Unfinished Business
by Alison Keating
Summary: #3 in the Barbara Williams/Robert McCall series. In winter of 1994, about 6 months after Robert and Barbara marry, Barbara travels alone to Miami to take out an international terrorist she has faced before. Will she get him before he gets her?
1. Chapter 1

**Unfinished Business**

**The Third in the Barbara Williams/Robert McCall Series**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story takes place in December, 1994 and falls between "Return to Cyprus" (end of 1995) and "Up Popped the Devil" (January 1993)**

**Chapter One**

Barbara was watching a Giants game on TV. Robert didn't like football—American football anyway—and she was taking the opportunity to watch while he was meeting Scott for a little father-son time. She didn't know exactly what they were up to, but whatever it was, she hoped it lasted through the end of the game. Although she hadn't yet warmed to the Giants, she had decided that since she was living in New York, she'd have to start rooting for a New York team. For some irrational reason, the Jets were out of the question, so it had to be the Giants.

Today her new team was playing at Dallas. In another life, Barbara had been a Cowboys fan, long before Aikman and Co. Today the Giants weren't making it easy to love them. Although they hadn't played too badly, by the half they had managed only two field goals while the Cowboys already had twenty points. She figured the Giants would have to play a lot better in the second half or they were going to lose, and she didn't like backing losers.

Barbara muted the half time blah blahs and was on her way to the fridge to get a soda when the phone rang. As usual she let the machine pick up, in case it was someone asking for Robert's help. After the beep, a voice she recognized started talking, compelling her stop and listen carefully.

"Call 541 555 3362." That was all.

After erasing the tape, Barbara turned off the TV, collected her coat and wallet, and went down to the phone booth outside their building. She punched in the number that had been left on the machine.

"648," she said into the receiver.

"Hello, Barbara," the voice answered. "How are you these days? How's life married to the famous, or is it infamous, Robert McCall? I have to say, that really surprised me. As did the fact that you quit the Red Line."

"Winston, why are you calling me? I quit. There's no reason for you to be talking to me." Barbara was annoyed. She didn't want to be standing in a phone booth on a cold winter's day talking to Winston.

"Don't get all huffy, Barbara." 'Still the same Barbara,' Winston thought. She could be very prickly. "We came across some information earlier today that we thought you might want to hear. We talked it over and decided we'd give you a head's up. That's all. It's up to you what you do with it."

Barbara was about to say that she wasn't interested no matter what the information might be, but she stopped herself. Perhaps she should listen, she told herself. What can it hurt?

"OK, Winston, go ahead," she said curtly.

"As I said, the information came in this morning. You've probably heard about the International Conference for World Peace that's starting soon in Miami."

"Yes, I've heard about it." She was getting more impatient, and colder, too.

"There will be delegations from all over the world."

"That's usually what international means, Winston. Get to the point."

"Sure. Carlos Costa is part of the Cuban delegation."

Barbara said nothing. She was staring off into space. Carlos Costa.

"Barbara, are you still there?"

"Yes, Winston, I'm still here. How do you know it's Costa? Supposedly nobody knows where he is. What the hell is he doing with the Cubans?"

"Barbara, I can't answer any of your questions. You are aware how we work. If someone feeds us intelligence, we don't ask questions, we just accept the information. But you know that our intelligence is very good."

"Are you sending someone?"

"No. Costa is definitely on our list, but we won't work domestically, even in this case."

"So what are you telling me?"

"Barbara, I'm—ah, we, are not telling you anything." As if Barbara ever let anyone tell her anything, he laughed to himself. In passing, he wondered if her new husband could do it. "We appreciate that you have a special relationship to Costa. As I said before, it's up to you what you do with this information." Certainly there were some among them who wanted her to do the job, but they were not going to recommend it.

"Is there anything more you can tell me? Places, dates?" It wasn't that she had decided to use the information, but in case she did….

He could tell that she had bitten.

"The Cuban delegation is arriving Tuesday at 2:00 PM at Opa-locka Airport. They'll be staying at the Miami Regency on the seventh floor. The conference is in the meeting rooms at the hotel. It starts at 9:00 AM on Wednesday."

"If I do it," she said, still not admitting she was even thinking about it, "I'd need a contact in Miami." She could not take her weapon on the plane, and she needed an unidentifiable car. That's what the contact was for.

"Syd Kramer said she'd help with equipment, but she does not want to get involved beyond logistics." He gave her Syd's number, which Barbara had to write down on a check deposit slip, since she hadn't brought anything down with her.

"OK. I'll think about it. Good bye, Winston." Barbara hung up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

By the time Barbara got back to the apartment, the football game was long forgotten. She had to make a decision, and quickly. The conference started on Wednesday, and this was Sunday afternoon. If she were going to get Costa, she only had a short time to figure out when and how. She would be taking a chance, trying it with such a short lead time. Plus, doing it at the conference added an extra degree of difficulty, because intelligence services from all over the world would be there protecting their people, and the FBI and Miami police would also be out in force.

Putting these considerations aside, Barbara started thinking about the details. If she could get a flight to Miami today, she could start work tomorrow morning. She called the airport. There was a flight to Miami at 6:00. She also called a hotel she had used before in Miami. There were rooms available, despite the conference; it was just a small hotel, off the beaten track. She'd still have to contact Syd before she left to make sure everything could be in place tonight. After she had the information, she sat back to think. It was 3:00.

During the ordeal when the Agency had sanctioned her, when she'd met Robert, she had decided she'd had enough of the Red Line. She was finished with the killing. That's what she'd told Robert. Yet a recalcitrant voice in her head was insisting that she had never promised anything. COULD she change her mind? Yesterday she would have said no. Today, she wasn't sure. This was Carlos Costa. Despite the fact that his name was on every international terrorist watch list, there were no pictures of him; almost nobody knew what he looked like. Barbara had seen him face to face. She could identify him. Naturally this meant that he could identify her, too. An additional degree of difficulty, she thought dryly.

Then there was the other question. What were the Cubans doing with him in their official delegation? She guessed that even they would think twice about having an internationally wanted terrorist in a delegation from their country. Could it be that they didn't know he was Costa? After all, with no pictures of him, he might be posing as someone totally different.

It was already 3:30. She had to decide now.

She called the airline and booked the flight; then she secured a room at the hotel, all of it using a credit card under the name Amanda Perkins. After changing into clothes appropriate for Miami, she packed a small bag. The last thing she did before she left the apartment was to write Robert a note.

"Dearest Robert, I'm leaving for a few days. Everything's fine, don't worry. I'll call if I can. See you soon. Love, Barbara."

When she got down to the street, she used the phone again to call Syd. The Miami contact agreed to leave a suitable car at Miami International and to secrete several weapons in a compartment in the trunk. The keys would be placed where Barbara could find them.

She took a taxi to JFK and left on the Delta flight punctually at 6:00.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

McCall and Scott had spent the afternoon strolling around the new exhibit at the MOMA, before going to Pete's for a beer and conversation. Even though their relationship recently had been good, they never seemed to catch up. There was so much they had missed when McCall was obsessed with his job, and Scott was growing up, practically fatherless. Scott had a date later that evening, so they had gone their separate ways about 5:00. Now it was near 6:00, and McCall was looking forward to a good dinner with Barbara.

As he walked in the door, he immediately saw the note, which she'd left on the table in the entrance. He didn't know what to make of it. She had left? Simply gone away, leaving only this note? McCall crumpled the paper in anger. How could she just leave without telling him anything? The note said not to worry. How could he not worry? A few days? How long was a few days? Damn her, he thought.

As he was taking off his overcoat and muffler, another, more unpleasant thought struck him: Had she left him? Was she ever coming back? He had pushed for their marriage; she probably would have been just as happy continuing to "live in sin," as she called it. He threw the coat and muffler on the sofa, worried more than he would have thought.

Loosening his tie, McCall poured himself a stiff drink and went to the window, gazing out but not seeing. Should he just accept that she was gone and do nothing? Or should he try to find her, he asked himself? She'd probably be very upset with him if he tried to find her, he knew that. She'd tell him that she was her own person and could do what she wanted without his interference. Bloody hell, he swore to himself, HE was upset. Didn't he have rights in this marriage, too? He loved her, but sometimes she was very hard to live with.

He mulled over how he could find out where she'd gone. There had been no indication this morning that she was going anywhere. Had she used the phone? Again he asked himself if he should trace her. Damn it, she was his wife, he told himself. He had a right to know what she was doing, didn't he?

The first thing he did was press the redial button. It was a hotel in Miami. Miami? Why Miami? Who did she know in Miami, he asked himself? There was so much he didn't know about his wife; she could easily have a friend—or an enemy—in Miami. Or was it something else? Scanning his memory, he remembered there was an international conference in Miami this week. Could her absence have anything to do with that?

Sitting down with his drink, he weighed his options. One was doing nothing. He could call her at the hotel and argue with her. Or, he could follow her to Miami. He didn't like any of them. Damn it, why did she do this?


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

On the flight to Miami, Barbara wanted to read, but she couldn't keep Carlos Costa from invading her consciousness. She'd seen him only once, in El Salvador in 1987. Her mission should have been easy. Costa's guerillas had taken a group of international tourists, including five Americans, hostage and demanded a large ransom. Although they never admitted it publicly the government had complied, with the backing of the US and, of course, the Company. She had been the lead of a group of three operatives assigned to take the money to the designated meeting spot, hand it off to Costa, and transport the hostages back to the capital. All sides had agreed. It was a simple mission: exchange the money for the hostages.

They'd convoyed to the meeting place in three Land Rovers. The road into the village was narrow, so they parked the vehicles in a line, one after the other. They got out, guns ready but not drawn, and Costa came out of one of the houses, backed by three guerillas with guns of their own.

"Hello, and welcome to my home," he had said. "I am so happy to be doing business with you." This he said with a smile on his face and a sneer in his voice.

Gesturing to his men to bring the hostages out of the house behind him, he said: "As you can see, your friends are safe and sound." Indeed the hostages looked scared but unhurt.

"Mr. Costa, please move the hostages this way," Barbara said, pointing toward the Rovers.

"Let me see the money first," he replied. Now he was all business.

The money was in a duffel bag in the last Rover, the one she had been driving.

"I'll get the money, you move the hostages this way," she said firmly.

"Certainly, my dear lady." He signaled his men to move the hostages to a position between them and her team, while she went to the last Rover, retrieved the duffel, and walked back toward the others. She stopped when she was near the first Rover.

"Open it," Costa demanded.

Barbara opened it, showed him that it was full of dollars, and zipped it again.

"I trust my friends from the United States so I am sure it is the correct amount," he said, mocking them.

Carrying the heavy bag, she started toward him. All eyes were on her.

Costa's men opened fire. Her people had no chance; if they fired at Costa's men, they would hit the hostages standing between them. Costa's men had no such compunctions and fired indiscriminately.

Barbara was still close to the first Rover when the bullets started. Not even able to take out her gun because of the heavy duffle in her hands, she did the only thing she could. She dropped the bag and dove under the SUV. Rolling to the far side of the Rover, she moved into a crouch while drawing her gun, but it was already too late. All of the hostages were wounded or dead; all of the people in her group were wounded or dead. There was nothing she could do. Committing suicide would not help them, for they were beyond help.

Apparently Costa and his men had not kept track of her. Their eyes were on the money on the other side of the Rover, which they found quickly. Crawling around the far side of the vehicles, she managed to get into the third one. The fact that the other two SUVs blocked the road between her vehicle and Costa's men bought her time. She started the engine, threw it in reverse, and roared away.

As Barbara drove back to San Salvador, she tried to make sense of the mess that had been her mission. No matter how she turned it around in her mind, it DIDN'T make sense. Why had Costa started the shooting, she asked herself again and again? He had absolutely nothing to gain by killing the hostages, or her group, for that matter. It was either a sign of insanity, or Costa had an agenda she knew nothing about. Whatever his reason, he had killed fifteen hostages, and two of her colleagues, her friends.

After a long drive, she finally arrived at headquarters in San Salvador, where she faced a tough debriefing. The mission was her responsibility. Those people were her responsibility. She was asked the same questions she had asked herself.

Then there was the more difficult question: why had she alone returned? Had she made a deal with Costa? She defended herself by asking why she would return if she was in it with Costa? The words rang hollow in her ears.

Back in the US, Control had questioned her repeatedly, and Barbara believed that the deterioration in her relationship with him started with this incident. Eventually her answers were accepted, but the disaster remained black mark on her record and a piece of unfinished business in her own mind.

Much later Barbara discovered that Costa and the three other men had pocketed the money, making clear that he had never believed in the guerilla cause. Indeed, after that incident he had gone from guerilla "freedom fighter" to terrorist, a man willing to kill anyone, anywhere, for the right price. Ideology played no role.

Now Costa was within reach. This was her chance to finish the business he had started seven years before. In his years of terrorism, nobody had come close enough to see him, let alone get him. She had looked him in the eyes; she knew him. And she was very good at what she did.

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters, settings, places, etc. are the property of their respective owners. No money is being made from these stories. No copyright infringement is intended.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

At the Miami airport, she took the shuttle to the parking lot where Syd had left her car. She found it exactly where it was supposed to be; the keys were in the specified hiding place, and the weapons were in the trunk. Putting the handgun in her purse, she deposited her carry-on in the trunk, closed it, got in the driver's side, and drove to the hotel.

Barbara didn't sleep very well that night. Questions swirled through her mind, disturbing her rest. Did she really want justice, or did she want to assuage her guilt? Did she just want revenge? Finally she admitted she could not answer these questions. Instead, she would focus on the mission: killing Carlos Costa.

Monday morning Barbara awoke early. As yesterday, she dressed as Amanda Perkins, her sometime alter ego. She checked out of the hotel, hoping to return to New York that evening. Deciding not to carry her handgun—too easy to spot— she placed it in the trunk with her carry-on. After breakfast in a local café, she drove toward the conference hotel. Parking the car a few blocks from the back entrance, she walked to the hotel and strolled through the lobby, locating the conference meeting rooms and checking out the security arrangements.

She found the registration area, paid her money, and collected her packet of information. The next step was to chat up an unsuspecting volunteer. Amanda Perkins was such an unprepossessing figure that others confided in her easily, and they often revealed more than they imagined. She found the right volunteer in a University of Miami student named Rita.

"Hello. I'm Amanda Perkins from Portland," Barbara said, putting out her hand for Rita to shake. "What a fantastic conference, don't you think, Rita?" This she conveyed with suitable enthusiasm.

"Oh, yes, I can't believe I'll be able to see Nelson Mandela in person. I never thought I'd actually see him with my own eyes," replied Rita with unfeigned enthusiasm.

"Will you be able to speak to him? I mean, you'll probably never have another chance to talk to him, will you?" Barbara was prompting Rita to tell what she knew about the leaders' schedules and the personnel with them.

"I so wish I could, but I'm sure I'll never get that close. He'll be surrounded by security people all the time," Rita sighed.

"I guess that's for the best, isn't it? We wouldn't want anything to happen at the conference, would we?" Barbara was pleased Rita had brought up security.

"My God, no." Rita was appalled.

"I'm amazed that Raoul Castro is one of the guests. I don't think of him as promoting world peace, do you?" Barbara said skeptically.

"Well, I don't know, but I can tell you, my parents are up in arms that he's here. Mama and Papa are from Cuba, you know, and they totally hate Castro and all of them. I think the delegation from Cuba is worried that there might be some trouble from Miami's Cuban community. Their security team got here yesterday."

This was important information.

"My, they MUST be worried. How can you tell they're Cuban security, anyway? I mean, do they look especially Cuban or something? I haven't seen many Cubans in my life," Barbara said innocently.

The girl laughed. "No, but one of them kind of flirted with me this morning, and he told me who they were. I think he wanted to impress me."

"Was he cute?" Barbara was partial to dark haired men herself. One particular Cuban she had known… She smiled to herself.

Rita laughed again. "Sort of. But my parents would have a fit if they knew I was flirting with a Cuban. His boss didn't much like it either. He chewed the poor guy out when he saw him talking to me." She stopped for a moment, then continued: "Funny, though, his boss didn't sound Cuban. His accent wasn't right. But I don't speak Spanish that much, maybe I'm wrong."

Carlos Costa spoke with a Salvadoran accent. Could Costa possibly head the Cuban security contingent? How strange was that, she thought? It was also dangerous, for it meant that her target was already here. She'd have to be vigilant. She didn't want him making her before she made him.

"I heard the Cubans have taken over the whole seventh floor. Funny, they're supposed to be Communists, but they must be spending a fortune on their suites," Barbara said.

"No, they don't have all of the seventh floor space. They've only got two of the suites up there. One of the waiters—he's cute, too—told me that there are two suites on that floor, but a bunch of regular rooms, too." Rita was full of information.

"I've never even been in a suite in a hotel like this. Have you?" Barbara was hoping her waiter friend had showed Rita around a suite so she could provide details about the layout of the rooms.

"No. Probably never will, either. I want to be a Spanish teacher. I'll never earn enough money to afford a suite in a hotel like this," Rita said with a small, very attractive sigh. At that moment, another conference attendee stepped up to ask Rita a question, and Barbara turned away.

It had been a very useful conversation. She was fairly sure that Costa was the head of Cuban security, and that he was already here. If she could find out what room he was in.... A plan was developing in her mind.

Barbara walked once again around the lobby. She located the stairs and walked up to a random floor, the fifth. She noted that the stairwell doors did not lock when closed, important if she needed the stairs to escape. On the fifth floor, she walked to the elevator. As she moved down the hall, she studied the door locks on the doors, which were traditional, not card locks. She could pick a traditional lock in a few seconds.

She waited for the elevator. When it opened, a young woman stepped out. With a shock, Barbara realized that she knew the woman; at the same time, the other woman realized she knew Barbara. Barbara hesitated a few seconds, and the elevator door closed, leaving her and the other woman alone in the hallway.

"Susan, du lieber Himmel, was machst du denn hier?" the other woman asked. ["Susan, for heaven's sake, what are you doing here?"]

Barbara was speechless. She did not want to be recognized, especially by this woman, but it was already too late.

"Marianne, kann es sein? Du siehst ja blendend aus. Wieviele Jahre ist es her?" She didn't answer Marianne's question. ["Marianne, can it be you? What are you doing here? You look fantastic. How many years has it been?"]

Marianne Jaspers was as shocked as Barbara, for she knew this woman, whom she knew as Susan, was a CIA operative. Marianne also knew she was not a member of the official US security team.

Barbara had to do something, now. Just as she was about to ask another question, a door opened far up the hallway, a man put his head out, and called to Marianne: "Frau Jaspers, was machen Sie so lange? Kommen Sie doch, wir haben viel zu tun!" ["Ms. Jaspers, why are you taking so long? Come on, we have a lot to do!"]

Barbara turned to Marianne and said hurriedly: "Bitte, Marianne, triff mich um zwölf auf einen Kaffee. Es ist wichtig, Marianne, bitte!" Barbara told her about a café she had seen several blocks from the hotel. ["Please, Marianne, meet me at 12 for a cup of coffee. It's important, Marianne, please!"]

In her heart, Marianne thought she owed this woman something, so she agreed: "Ja, in Ordnung, ich komme." She turned and went to the room down the hall. ["Yes, OK, I'll come."]

Barbara waited for the elevator, rode down, bought a paper, and sat in the lobby, watching and listening. She willed herself to be calm. There was nothing she could do until she spoke with Marianne Jaspers.

When Karl Frenzel had stepped out the door to call Marianne Jaspers, he only wanted to get his young colleague's attention. What he saw jolted him to the core. The woman talking to Jaspers: he knew her, and he was sure she would recognize him, if she saw him. She could ruin everything.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

As Barbara sat in the lobby, she thought back to the eighties in Leipzig when she, as Susan Lampley, had taught English at the Language Institute. Marianne had been Barbara's favorite student and her friend, at least as much as she could have a friend and stay under cover. Barbara's covert mission in East Germany was to help dissident groups work against the Communist government. For sixteen months, the Stasi, the East German Secret Police, knew that the American English teacher was attending dissidents' meetings, but they didn't see her as a threat. The Stasi didn't interfere with the meetings much, as long as they didn't get too vocal; however, they had moles in each group.

It was one of these moles who had discovered that Susan was funneling large sums of money to the dissidents. Once they found out, the Stasi had no doubt that the money came from the CIA, and that the seemingly innocent teacher was a CIA operative. She was arrested the same day. In truth, Barbara was lucky: during her time in Eastern Europe, she had been doing far more than funneling money to dissident groups, but the Stasi never found out about her other activities. Then again, she certainly didn't feel lucky when she was imprisoned and maltreated in the hell known as Bautzen prison. Eventually, she was exchanged for a Czech spy.

While these thoughts were flowing through Barbara's mind, she was also checking the lobby, collecting information. She could identify some of the people walking by as security—police, men and women who had to be FBI, and non-Americans who also fit the bill. Then she realized what she had registered unconsciously earlier: Marianne looked like one of them, too. Oh, for God's sake, is Marianne with the German security contingent, she asked herself? Just what she needed…hum…she wondered…. Maybe it WAS just what she needed?

At ten minutes to noon, Barbara folded her paper and walked toward the hotel entrance on her way to the café to meet Marianne. With a start, she saw that Carlos Costa was nearing the door from the outside. Shit, Barbara thought, what if he recognizes me? There was nothing she could do except keep going and hope he wouldn't notice her.

As she moved out the automatic door, he walked in, engrossed in conversation with the man accompanying him. He even glanced her way, but Barbara could tell that he decided immediately that Amanda Perkins was of no interest. Women like Amanda were almost invisible, an invisibility Barbara had found an excellent disguise. That and the fact that such men inevitably underestimated women like Amanda—or maybe women in general—had helped Barbara complete her missions with great effectiveness for many years. True as she knew this to be, it was nonetheless a relief that he had ignored her.

On the other side of the lobby, Karl Frenzel was not ignoring her. He had watched her as she sat in the lobby. He also observed Marianne Jaspers leaving the hotel shortly after her. Could they be meeting, he asked himself? The American had given no sign that she had recognized him in the hallway on the fifth floor, but why else would she be meeting with his operative? Could she be telling Jaspers about him?


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

On her way to the café, Barbara was on the lookout for a convenient pay phone. She found it at a small park about a block from the café. She wrote down the phone number, then continued on to the café, where she took a table near the door and ordered a Cuban coffee. A few minutes later, Marianne came in, found her, and took a seat at the table. She also ordered coffee.

(The following conversation took place in German, but your author has translated it into English.)

"Marianne, you are looking wonderful," Barbara began. This was true.

"Yes, Susan, you are too," Marianne replied. She had exaggerated about how Barbara looked. To Marianne she looked much older.

"It's been such a long time, and so much has happened since we saw each other last. It's hard to believe that we're meeting in Miami, of all places," Barbara said. She had to figure out how to reach the real Marianne, quickly.

"Yes. The end of my old country, unification…," Marianne responded cautiously.

"I was so proud of all of you, what you did during the Wende*," Barbara said truthfully. "I was in Germany, in the west, in 1989. I would have loved to see it all in person, especially to go to Berlin, in November, just to watch it all unfolding. I could only watch it on American TV." What she said to Marianne was all true. She had dearly wanted to go.

_[*Wende: literally "turning point", refers to the years during and right after German unification, 1989-1995.]_

Marianne didn't know what to make of this woman. She had very much liked Susan Lampley, but when she found out that she was a CIA spy, she had wondered how her friend could have lied to her? Now, Marianne didn't know whether she could believe her or not.

"Why didn't you? Go to Berlin, I mean?"

"It just wasn't possible…," Barbara told her. "Marianne, how has the change been for you?"

"At the beginning I really wanted the GDR* to continue in a new form. That is what I would have chosen, if I could. But it just was not possible." She was aware she had used the same words as Barbara. Since their friendship in Leipzig, Marianne had learned a lot about what was not possible. She shrugged her shoulders and said: "I decided I would make the best of the new situation."

_[*GDR: German Democratic Republic or East Germany. FRG: Federal Republic of Germany, earlier West Germany, now the official name of unified Germany.]_

"Is that why you're here? Are you a journalist or something?" Barbara prompted.

"No. I'm working for the Bundesnachrichtendienst.*"

_[Bundesnachrichtendienst: literally Federal Information Service, roughly equivalent to the CIA.]_

Even though Barbara had suspected as much, she was taken aback. Marianne had always been very idealistic; she just didn't seem the type to join the spooks. But she had to laugh at herself, for she had been idealistic when she'd been Marianne's age, too. It was only after twenty plus years that she had gotten disgusted with the whole game.

"I see. How long?"

"Two years. They recruited me soon after the Wende. It seemed like a good way to be involved in the future of my new country." That sounded fine, but two years into her tenure in the BND, Marianne was already having reservations.

After her own experiences an operative, Marianne had a new perspective on what this woman had done during those sixteen months in Leipzig—and on what had happened after she was arrested. Since the day in 1985 when she was taken away by the Stasi, Marianne had heard nothing about Susan, except that she was imprisoned in Bautzen, a name that evoked fear in every East German.

While this was going through Marianne's mind, Barbara was observing her closely, believing that she could get the young German to help if she could get her to open up.

"You know, what you said about why you joined reminds me so much of me when I started in this business."

"Susan…," Marianne began.

"Barbara. My real name is Barbara. Barbara Williams."

"Barbara," she began with an earnest look, "are you still with the CIA?"

At that moment, Barbara decided to tell Marianne the truth, at least as much of it as possible. She didn't want to lie to her again.

"No, Marianne. I quit about two years ago. I got fed up with it all. Twenty-three years were enough."

"You did this for twenty-three years?" Marianne asked. She didn't think she could do this job for twenty-three years. "Can I ask you something else?"

"You can ask. I won't guarantee that I'll answer," Barbara said with a smile.

"What happened in Bautzen?"

Barbara did not want to answer this question, although she had expected it sooner or later.

"That's one of the questions I don't want to answer. Let's just say that I was very happy to get out." Recounting her experiences in that place would be too much truth. Barbara tried her best never to think about it.

"I'm sorry, Sus…Barbara. It's just that…, we never heard anything about you except that you had been sent to that prison. We were very worried."

Barbara was surprised. "You were worried? I thought you'd all be so angry, you'd be glad I was arrested."

"Oh, no! How could we be glad you'd been sent to that place? Yes, we were angry at you, but it was really the whole situation, not just you. The Stasi spying on our own people, and then you spying on us, too." Marianne was glad that those days were over, even if the present was not as idyllic as they had hoped.

Barbara said nothing. What could she say?

Marianne decided to ask what she dearly wanted to know: "Barbara, why are you here? You're not with the official security team."

Again, Barbara told the truth. "Because Carlos Costa is here."

Marianne inhaled sharply. She knew who Carlos Costa was. "Costa, here? How do you know?"

"Costa and I have history, Marianne," Barbara answered. She outlined the incident in El Salvador with an even voice, hiding her anger.

"I see." Marianne appreciated that Barbara must want Costa badly. Then she caught on. "Oh, you know what Costa looks like! I thought nobody did?"

"Yes, and I've seen him here at the hotel. He's the head of security for the Cubans."

"What? Why would the Cubans do that? Have you told anyone?" As a German, she did not have the baggage about Cubans that Americans did, but this was crazy.

"No, I've told no one. You're the first." Barbara stared at Marianne, willing her to understand what she was saying.

Marianne was amazed. "Why are you telling me? You should tell your security people."

"I'm telling you because I want your help. I'm planning to kill Costa, Marianne, and I need your help."

Marianne was shocked. Why would Sus…Barbara think she would help her murder Costa, she asked herself? No, she could not have anything to do with this.

"Barbara, I can't help you with this! It's out of the question. I have to tell my superiors immediately. I have to go." She started to get up.

"Wait, Marianne, hear me out, please," Barbara implored the younger woman.

Some time ago, Marianne had decided she owed this woman something. Despite everything, she was certain in her heart that Barbara had helped them end the corrupt regime, and it pained Marianne to think how she must have suffered in Bautzen because of her efforts. Plus, she had come to understand that the American had been her role model, showing what a woman could do, even if it meant putting herself in great danger. She didn't know anyone like Barbara. Marianne sat down.

"I'll listen."

"Look, we both know what Costa has done. I saw with my own eyes how he gunned down fifteen hostages for absolutely no reason. He is totally ruthless, devoid of conscience." Barbara's voice had taken on the passion she felt about Costa.

"But he's wanted internationally, Barbara. Why not turn him in?" This seemed the logical solution to Marianne.

"Can't you see what would happen? The Cubans would argue that he's not Costa. It would be his word against mine. He has a diplomatic passport. They would send him home, and we would never get him." After letting this sink in, she continued: "You've been working long enough in our shadow world to know that this is the way it works."

Indeed, Marianne had been working long enough in their world to suspect it did function as Barbara said.

Barbara could see her waver, so she pushed harder: "Another thing. Why is he here? Is it really to provide security for the Cubans? Or is he here for another reason?"

"You mean he might be targeting the meeting?" Marianne had already thought of this.

"Or someone at the meeting." Barbara was certain she had her now. "Look, Marianne, I don't want you to do very much. All I need to know is his room number."

"That's all?"

"And a time when he won't be in his room."

Marianne thought about it. She could do this. But what if someone found out? Not only would her career be over, but she could be arrested for helping Barbara. Still the risk seemed relatively small. Nobody would notice if she asked a few questions about the man, she told herself.

There were other concerns, though. Should she trust Barbara? If she was telling the truth, was it the right thing to do, to let her kill Costa, she had to ask herself? Maybe the worst of all, Barbara might be killed. He was a ruthless terrorist; she didn't look like she could kill anyone.

Barbara watched as these thoughts passed through Marianne's mind. It was clear to her what the younger woman was thinking. Time for some more pressure, she decided

"Marianne, I bet I know what you're thinking: I lied to you before. But I never lied about what was important, believe me. What I said about democracy and socialism and freedom, I meant all of it. The only lies were about my name, and who I worked for." Barbara had put her hand on Marianne's, willing her to accept what she was saying. It WAS the truth, all of the truth.

Marianne believed her, but she was still worried about the other part. "Isn't it going to be very dangerous for you?" she wanted to know.

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Marianne. Costa is a very dangerous man, but I am a very dangerous woman."

Part of Marianne thought of Barbara as Susan Lampley, English teacher, even though she knew she had been a spy for over twenty years. It was hard to take all of this in. Nevertheless, she had to make a decision, and she did.

"I will do it." When she heard the words come out of her mouth, Marianne was afraid. But she had decided, and she would be true to her word.

"Thank you, Marianne." Barbara was triumphant. Costa would not live to see another day, she was certain.

Marianne already had a piece of information Barbara needed: "There's one thing I can tell you. There is a meeting at 3:30 this afternoon to coordinate security. Costa should be there. About the room, I'll have to look into that when I get back to the hotel."

"This is what we'll do," Barbara instructed. "You find out the room number. There is a pay phone a block from here. Call me at 2:30 with the information. Will that work?" She gave Marianne the number of the pay phone.

"Yes."

"Good. Then you will have to let me know he's really at the meeting."

"How am I going to do that? I can't phone during the meeting."

"No. But you can use the restroom. I'll be stationed outside the meeting room. If you come out and go into the restroom, it will mean that he is inside. If you don't, he's not there. How does that sound?"

"Good. OK."

"How long is the meeting supposed to last?"

"About half an hour."

"Perfect."

"What are you going to do?"

"It's better you know nothing more, Marianne."

"Yes, I think you're right." She stood up, ready to leave. She was nervous.

Barbara stood up, too. "It is the right thing, Marianne. Thank you very much." She hugged the younger woman.

With that, Marianne left. It was 1:00. Barbara ordered another coffee and a sandwich. After finishing, she paid the bill and walked back to the hotel. She had a few things to take care of before she got the call from Marianne.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Once back in the hotel, Barbara rode the elevator to Costa's floor. She had to know if there were surveillance cameras in the hallway. Not wanting to make herself suspicious by openly looking for cameras, she pretended to search for her own room**.** The charade was unnecessary, though, because there were no cameras. In fact, the only cameras she could find were in the elevators.

With this information stored in her head, she took the elevator down again, getting off at the fifth floor for the entertainment of the people watching the elevator cameras. Once on the fifth floor, she realized that she was relieved to be off the Costa's floor and out of the elevator, because in the back of her mind, she had been waiting to encounter Costa again. He hadn't recognized her the first time, but she did not want to test his memory a second time.

Now she knew everything necessary. It was about 2:00. She headed to the phone booth to await Marianne's call. After buying a soda, Barbara found a place on a bench right next to the phone, sat, and waited.

While she waited, she assessed her mission so far. She felt that things were going well. The next part was up to her young German colleague. She hoped Marianne would not be hurt by helping her, but if Barbara got caught by the FBI or the police—unlikely as that was—she would have bigger things to worry about than Marianne Jaspers' career. The other possibility, if her plan for killing Costa went awry, and Costa caught her; that notion she ignored. She had to focus on the mission, not on possibilities.

As she sat in the mild warmth of the winter's afternoon, another thought crept unbidden into her mind. This was her first operation since marrying Robert. What was he doing right now, she wondered? Once she let him into her consciousness, he filled spaces she hadn't known existed. She missed him. She wanted to see him. Did he miss her? Was he unhappy that she had left without talking to him, just leaving that note? Probably…., she acknowledged. Had he tried to find her? No, she told herself, because if he had tried, he would have found her. But why hadn't he tried? What could that mean?

Suddenly she realized that the phone was ringing. Shit, she thought, how long has it been ringing? She jumped up, strode quickly to the booth and answered.

"Hello."

"Barbara, it's Marianne. I was worried that you weren't there." She did sound worried.

"I'm here. What did you find out?" Barbara asked evenly. She had to settle Marianne down.

"His room is 710."

"Good. Thank you. I'll be in the lobby when the meeting starts."

"Fine. Goodbye." Marianne hung up.

Barbara sat on the bench again. How foolish she had been, letting her thoughts drift when she needed complete concentration. She resolved to put Robert out of her mind until the job was over.

She had a little over an hour until the meeting. Strolling toward the hotel, she skirted the lobby, going instead to her car. Making sure nobody was paying attention, she opened the trunk and retrieved the pistol and a silencer Syd had provided. She put both in her purse.

Using the rear entrance, she walked into the hotel lobby. She seated herself so the people going into the security meeting could not see her, but she could see them. After a few minutes, security types began filing into the meeting room. She was glad to see that Marianne was one of them. Did she look nervous, Barbara asked herself? She couldn't tell. She had to trust the young woman.

The hit was getting close. Barbara was beginning to feel the tremor of excitement, as well as the touch of fear, that always accompanied her work. She knew she enjoyed these sensations, but as usual, she focused on the job.

Ah, there was Marianne, making her way to the restrooms: the signal. Costa was at the meeting, Barbara knew.

It was time.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

It WAS time, but not for the hit Barbara had planned. As she headed for the elevator and Costa's room, a man appeared out of nowhere behind her, and she felt the muzzle of a pistol pressed into her back. With the gun covered by his coat, the man smiled as if he were greeting an old friend. Grasping her arm very tightly, he said softly: "Just go, to the elevator. That's right, keep walking normally. I will shoot you if you do not do as I say."

"You wouldn't shoot me in the middle of the lobby!" Barbara snapped.

"I would. You've got a gun in your bag, yes? I could say I caught you with the weapon, couldn't I? Go," he said in accented English.

Barbara knew he was right. He had her, at least for the moment.

"Ok, Ok, I'm going."

Reaching the elevator, they stepped inside, still standing close like good friends. Four other people entered behind them, three men and a woman. The man holding Barbara told her to push the button for the fifth floor; the woman and the man accompanying her were going to the tenth; and the third man, to the sixth. The fourth man smiled and said he was going to the fifth, too.

Barbara wondered what the surveillance cameras in the elevator were recording. Did the people monitoring them observe anything unusual? Probably not; this man was good.

When the door opened at the fifth floor, the man getting off with them insisted: "After you, please."

As Barbara and her captor left the elevator, she was gambling that he had not noticed her momentary glance at the man who was now behind them. In the hall her captor spoke again: "That is good, very good. Keep going, to 518. I will hand you the key. You will open the door. I will have my gun on you. Make no noise. That way you will live a little longer. Or I can kill you here. It is your choice."

When they neared his door, he handed her the key. Feeling his gun still firmly against her back, she put the key in the lock and slowly turned it.

When she heard the click, Barbara dove forward and downward into the doorway. The man fired one shot, hitting her in the back. Before he could fire again, a bullet hit him in the head, and he fell.

Barbara lay facing the wall that divided the small hall from the bathroom. The bullet had hit her right side just below her waist, in a spot where her hip had always seemed to hurt. Now it really hurt. It had been a long time since she had been shot, and she had forgotten how much it hurt. Eyes closed, she concentrated on breathing.

After checking the other man's pulse—he was dead—Robert McCall knelt by his wife. Barbara opened her eyes and turned to lie on her back, letting out small groan. He said: "Barbara, lie still. I'm going to get something to stop the bleeding and call for help."

She nodded slightly.

McCall went to the phone in the room and called the hotel operator, sketching quickly what had happened and ordering them to fetch the paramedics. Then he got two towels from the bathroom and returned to Barbara. One towel he put under her head, and then he told Barbara: "I'm going to put this under your back to help stop the bleeding." Lifting her slightly, he wedged the towel between her back and the floor. "The paramedics are on their way. Don't worry, it's going to be all right."

Barbara nodded again. She wasn't sure how she felt, except that it hurt. She knew it wasn't as bad as the last time, but other than that, she hadn't a clue.

"Robert…," she started. She had a lot to tell him.

"Don't say anything. Just lie still."

As much as she hated Robert's telling her what to do, this time she followed his orders. Then an unpleasant thought occurred to her. "Damn," she muttered, more to herself than to McCall. "I'm not going to get him."

"Get who?" McCall asked. Not this man, McCall wondered?

"Costa. I'm after Costa." She spoke so only McCall could hear because people were gathering outside the door, gawking at the body and the woman bleeding into the carpet.

McCall lowered his voice, too. "Carlos Costa? Then who is this man?" He gestured at the dead German.

She closed her eyes. It was such a long story.

"He's German security, BND. But I saw him at Bautzen. A Stasi officer, maybe a commander. Doesn't make sense." It was too tiring.

McCall was confused. Barbara could have seen this man at the East German prison. But how could he now be in the BND? They certainly did not allow former Stasi officers into their ranks.

Within a few minutes, FBI Special Agent Alonzo Garcia and two other FBI agents arrived. Garcia was in charge of security for the peace conference. He had been leading the security coordination meeting when he'd gotten the word of the disturbance on the fifth floor.

Good God, he said to himself, a shootout between the German security chief and an unknown woman, right before the conference. And what was Robert McCall doing here, he asked himself? Was the Agency somehow involved? Garcia knew that McCall had resigned, but he had never really believed that McCall was completely out of the profession.

Soon after the FBI, a deputation from the Miami police turned up as well. The local police and the FBI did not often work smoothly together, but Garcia was a good communicator, and he quickly made sure that they were on the same page. After ordering the bystanders moved away, he turned to McCall.

"Robert, what the hell is going on? Who did the shooting? Who's she?" Garcia pointed at Barbara.

McCall exchanged looks with Barbara; she nodded almost imperceptibly. He stood up and addressed Garcia, whom he had known since they had teamed up for a joint mission about fifteen years ago, when Garcia had been a fledgling agent. They had had a kind of mentor/mentee relationship, and McCall felt obligated to tell Garcia the little he knew from Barbara's sparse account.

"Alonzo, the woman is my wife, Barbara Williams," he began.

"Your wife? I didn't know you'd married?"

"It's a new arrangement. The man—I don't know his name—brought her up here at gunpoint and threatened to kill her. She told me that he's German security, and that she knows he was an officer in the Stasi prison where she was held in the eighties. He shot her, and I shot him. Can we leave the rest for the moment?" he said, gesturing down the hall, where they could see the paramedics stepping out of the elevator.

"None of that makes sense. This man is no ex-Stasi guy, Robert. He's Karl Frenzel. You've killed the head of German security at the conference. The Germans will be just a little upset about that," responded Garcia sarcastically, concerned about the international repercussions of this mess.

"Alonzo, I am sorry you are in a difficult position. But that man was about to kill my wife. I had no choice," McCall said flatly in his firmest voice, the one many people had learned to be wary of.

"Well, Robert, we are going to have a long conversation about this soon," Garcia insisted in his equally firm voice. He was willing to cut McCall some slack, for Garcia had always respected the older man. No matter his personal relationship to McCall, though, it was his job to get to the bottom of this, and that he would do.

"I assure you, I want to understand as much as you do, but we'll have to wait until Barbara can tell us more," McCall said. The subject was closed.

Turning away from Garcia, McCall knelt down to Barbara again: "My love, the paramedics are here." She nodded again.

While the two paramedics began initial treatment and lifted her onto a gurney, Barbara was still only half aware of what was going on, but each time they moved her, she certainly felt the pain. Between the stabs of pain, she was telling herself that she was too old for this. Would she ever allow her past to rest—or would her past ever allow her to rest, she wondered wearily.

Before they took her to the elevator, McCall told he would be directly behind her on the way to the hospital. He kissed her lightly, and the paramedics took her away. Right then, Garcia and McCall each saw Barbara's purse lying on the floor near where she had fallen. Both men reached for it, but Garcia was quicker. It was very heavy, and he looked inside.

"Hum, Robert, your wife certainly carries interesting things in her handbag," Garcia said, taking the gun and silencer from the bag. "Know anything about these?" Garcia was not surprised, but he almost wished he had not found the weapon. It was going to make his dealings with McCall much more difficult.

"No," McCall said. It was the truth. The gun she usually carried, the one she had the permit for, was at home, and she did not normally carry a silencer. He knew nothing about THIS gun or THIS silencer.

Garcia looked at him, sure that McCall could tell him more. He let it go, because he knew he could not force McCall to say anything.

"Alonzo, may I have Barbara's purse? I need the keys to her car." McCall did not want the FBI agent to discover the false ID he was sure Barbara had inside. He needed the keys to get to the hospital, but also so he could dispose of the other weapons he suspected were in her car.

McCall was playing a game with him, Garcia was sure. His former mentor didn't want him to see what else was in the purse. "I think I'll keep the bag for now, Robert." Garcia fished inside and brought out the keys. "But here are the keys. You'd better get going, she'll be at the hospital soon. We'll talk later." Garcia still had work to do at the hotel before he could go to the hospital, but he knew exactly where to find McCall and his wife when he wanted to interview them.

McCall took the keys. "Thank you, Alonzo."

As he turned to go, Garcia put his hand on McCall's shoulder. "Good luck, Robert. I hope she's OK."

McCall nodded his thanks, took the elevator down, and walked through the lobby, out the back exit and to Barbara's car. He wouldn't do anything about the weapons in the car for now; his first priority was getting to the hospital.

Back on the fifth floor, the Miami police's crime scene investigation team had arrived to do their job. While Garcia was keeping track of their work, his mobile phone rang. It was the German embassy in Washington. Someone had already informed them about Frenzel's death. An official would be arriving tomorrow morning, and they wanted to schedule a meeting, immediately. Certainly, he told them. Would 10:00 AM be convenient?

After the CSI team released it, Garcia followed Frenzel's body down in the elevator, watched while it was loaded in the medical examiner's van, then got in his own car and headed for the hospital. This situation with McCall's wife was going to be difficult. Hell, everything was going to be difficult, he said to himself with a sigh. He was in for some unpleasant days ahead.

From the hotel entrance, a man watched Garcia's departure. He had observed the ambulance leave a few minutes earlier, too. Approaching one of the police officers, he asked: "Can you tell me please what happened?"

"A shooting upstairs, sir. It is under control now."

"Where was the ambulance going?"

"Miami General, I think."

"Thank you, officer," the man said. A plan taking shape in his mind, he walked back into the hotel lobby.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

While he drove, McCall was mulling over whether to tell Garcia what Barbara had said about Carlos Costa being in Miami. He decided to wait. After all, there were advantages if he did not tell Garcia right away, he reasoned. Barbara might have important details she had not yet revealed. Plus, if Costa were alerted too early, he could get away before they had the evidence to arrest him. Without evidence, it would be Costa's word against Barbara's: Costa could simply deny that he was the terrorist Barbara claimed he was. If waiting meant making sure Costa was caught, there was still time; the conference did not start until Wednesday, and today was Monday.

Once he had made the decision, his mind drifted back to the position Barbara had put them in. Damn, McCall swore to himself, she had drawn them right back into the life they both had wanted to put behind them, a life of the FBI and the BND and terrorism. She had promised him, well, he admitted, she'd TOLD him, she would stop involving herself in these deadly games. Another of her surprises, he reminded himself. One of the reasons he'd fallen in love with her was that she surprised him time and again. However, there were certainly disadvantages to loving an enigma, he acknowledged to himself, shaking his head.

While McCall was examining the nature of love, Barbara was lying in the ER thinking along the same lines, not about the nature of love, but about not getting involved anymore. Shit, she thought, she didn't want to be lying in a hospital with a bullet in her back. Six months ago they had finally removed the bullet from Afghanistan, and here she was again.

Of course she recognized that only she was responsible for her being in the hospital this time. She could have left Costa alone; she could have left her old life alone. She had retired from the Agency; she decided to stop working with the Red Line. Why didn't she simply move on with her life? You can be such a fool, she told herself.

Being who she was, though, she still wanted Costa. In fact, she wanted him more than ever because she had come so close. Unfortunately, it wasn't likely she could get him from a hospital bed, she conceded.

It was the damned Stasi man, the one they called Frenzel, who had ruined her plan, she thought. Unfortunately, once she had allowed the man back into her mind, he flooded her consciousness with images she had tried very hard to forget. She saw the room, the one where they'd hurt her, and there he was, watching. Frenzel had never touched her; he had only watched. Perhaps he had given the orders, she didn't know. What she did know was that he had watched every rape, every beating, every despicable act.

Was he more important to her than Costa? What would she have done if she'd seen him before she went after Costa, she asked herself? Of one thing she was sure: She was very glad he was dead and very glad that Robert had done the killing.

Barbara was drifting along on the pain meds and memories, paying little attention to her treatment, until pain rudely returned her to the present as a technician repositioned her for x-rays. The pain meds dulled the edge, but she wished that they'd just let her lie still. Maybe she could just drift off once more, she hoped.

But no, after they finished the x-rays, they continued to poke and prod her. Opening her eyes, she realized that Robert was talking to the ER doctor at the entrance to her cubicle. As happy as she was to see Robert, she also wished the doctor would talk to HER.

The doctor left, and Robert came to her bedside, took her hand, and asked: "I just got here. How are you?"

"Um, it hurts, not too bad. What did he say?" she asked.

"Not much. Didn't want to say anything until the x-rays are in. You know what doctors are like." That was an understatement. She nodded. McCall found a chair, and they waited.

Eventually the x-rays were developed and the doctor did come, bringing the films with him. McCall stood to talk to the doctor.

"Hello, Mrs. McCall," he started. "I'm Dr. Ramirez."

To spare her the effort, McCall said: "Doctor, my wife's name is Dr. Williams."

Ramirez smiled faintly, nodded, and said: "Dr. Williams, all indications are that the bullet missed any vital organs. You can see it right here." He pointed to a place on the film. Barbara thought maybe she could see it, but she was pretty woozy.

"However, it did take a chip off the bone right here." He pointed to another very small, white, fuzzy thing. "What we'll do is take the bullet out and get rid of that chip. It shouldn't be a long or complicated operation. Not like the one you had over here." He pointed to the evidence of her earlier operation.

"Good." That was all she could get out.

"All right. We will do it soon. You can wait here, Mr. McCall, until we have to prep her for surgery."

"Thank you, doctor," McCall said. After Ramirez had left them alone, McCall sat down again.

"You know, Barbara, this is getting tiresome, sitting at your bedside," he said half in jest.

"I'm sorry, Robert," Barbara said softly. "For leaving. For this."

He touched her cheek, then took her hand, and they sat quietly for a few minutes.

"I was following you all day…. You never noticed. Bad form, my dear, bad form."

When he had stepped into the elevator with her and Frenzel, Barbara had assumed as much. She didn't know how she could have missed him. Maybe now they were even, after she'd shadowed him for days back in Vienna without his making her. "Stupid," she agreed. "But you didn't make the German?"

"No. Who is he? Or do you want to wait? Garcia will want to know the whole story as soon as possible, though."

She closed her eyes, uncertain if she could talk long enough to tell Robert about the German.

"That man, he watched, always, in the room, you know, the room…." She groped for words.

"Yes, I understand." She had told him about her experiences in the East German prison.

"Maybe he told them what to do. They looked at him…. He was the only one always there. It was…awful, he…saw everything but…he…." She didn't know how to describe how much she despised that man, even now that he was dead.

"It's all right, Barbara, I think I understand."

"But how…he got from Bautzen to…? I don't know."

"I trust the BND is going to be searching through their records very soon. They're not going to want this to get out," he said, shaking his head at their stupidity.

"Hum," an exhausted Barbara replied.

"Dr. Williams," a nurse said, "we have to prep you for surgery now. You'll have to leave, Mr. McCall."

"Yes, of course. I'll be right outside in the waiting area, Barbara." He bent down and kissed her lightly on the lips.

"Thank you, Robert," Barbara mumbled, grateful beyond words that she had found this man.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

Just over two hours later, at 8:00 PM, Barbara was in the recovery area, and Dr. Ramirez reported to McCall that the surgery was successful. As soon as they were sure she was stable, they would move her to a room on the third floor, the doctor told him.

By this time Garcia had arrived at the hospital, so he heard that Barbara was in recovery, too. He had a lot of questions for Mrs. Robert McCall, and he wanted to ask them as soon as possible, maybe even tonight.

"Robert, the German embassy called just after you left the hotel. They're sending a man down tomorrow. We're meeting at 10:00. I need to talk to her before then."

"Alonzo, come on, let her rest. She's been shot, had surgery. Let her at least sleep the night."

"Only if I can talk to her tomorrow before the German gets here, Robert. Will you guarantee that?"

"How can I guarantee it, Alonzo? For God's sake, anything could happen between now and tomorrow," McCall said, exasperated.

"You know what I mean, Robert. If she's able to talk, of course."

McCall could just hear what Barbara would say if she knew he was speaking for her, as if he were her keeper. No matter, he had to do it. "All right, all right. Come at 9:00."

Garcia didn't think 9:00 would give them enough time, but he relented. "OK, 9:00. See you then."

A half hour later, Barbara was in her private room on the third floor, and McCall was seated beside her bed.

Barbara opened her eyes, and the first thing she saw was McCall. She smiled. Sometimes she thought she had only dreamed him, and often when she awoke and found he was really there, it was an unexpected but treasured gift. One of her arms was attached to an IV, but she reached out the other and touched him, as if making sure he was real.

"Hello, my dear," McCall told her. "How are you feeling?"

"Hum…," Barbara said. She was still very fuzzy from the anesthetic.

"Dr. Ramirez said that the surgery went well. The bullet's out, there's no major organ damage, and they got the bone fragment out fine."

"Hum…, good," Barbara was able to say.

"I'm going to stay here for a while until everything's settled, then I've got to take care of some things. Is that OK with you?"

"Hum…yes." She'd rather he stayed, but it wasn't possible, so she had to let him go. Soon she was asleep again, and McCall left, planning to deal with the weapons in her car, to keep evidence against Barbara out of Garcia's reach.

At first Barbara slept well, exhausted and drugged as she was. The man known as Karl Frenzel kept trying to force his way back into her mind; he might be dead, but in spirit, he still haunted her. She resisted him, turning this way and that. The wound yelled: Stop. The pain woke her.

Looking shakily around, she saw that she had broken the IV line. Oh, shit, that's not good, she told herself. Trying to pull herself together, she thought: Call the nurse, that's what you should do. All you have to do is push the button. The door opened, and she wondered if she'd already pushed the button but didn't remember. A beam of light from the doorway illuminated part of the room, and someone walked in. It must be the nurse, come to fix the IV, she supposed.

As the person was approaching the bed, and she could see him more clearly, Barbara stiffened in fear. It was not the nurse. It was Carlos Costa, and he was holding a hypodermic needle.

Her senses deadened from drugs and the surgery, Barbara didn't immediately react. She couldn't think what to do. If he got close, she didn't have enough strength to stop him. She fought against panic. She could only think of one thing to do.

When he got closer to the bed, she screamed as loudly as she could and rolled away from him. She fell on the floor, pulling the bedside table and everything on it down with her. It made a huge crash, one she was sure they could hear at the nurses' station. She was also sure that she had torn open the wound; it hurt like hell.

Costa swore, threw down the needle, pulled out his gun, ran around the bed to where Barbara lay on the ground, and pointed it at her. Just then the door opened, and a nurse started to turn on the light.

"Gun," Barbara called out. "Get out!"

The nurse let the door fall closed as Costa shot in her direction. Barbara didn't know if she was hit. She had other things to worry about.

Costa turned to her and pointed the gun, snarling: "Damn you, bitch, I am going to enjoy shooting you."

"How are you going to get out, if you shoot me?" Barbara struggled to get her mind working beyond the panic and the pain. "They know you're here. If you kill me, you'll never get out alive."

Costa knew she was right. She had ruined his plan. Well, instead of dying now, she could be his hostage; that just might work, he reckoned. He didn't like it, but he hadn't survived this long without being flexible.

"Very well. We'll postpone your death for a few hours, my dear lady."


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

Outside Barbara's room, the nurse who had opened the door was sitting at the nurses' station, calm but pale; the bullet had barely missed her. The head nurse had immediately called security, and they had called the police, who were on their way. The head nurse was also trying to contact the patient's husband, but she did not know where to find him. Dr. Ramirez would arrive soon.

The nurse who had almost been shot described the scene in the room during the brief seconds she had stood in the doorway: A man with the gun standing over the patient lying on the floor. They reasoned that she had fallen out of bed. How, they didn't know.

The police arrived a short time later. Quickly it became evident that they needed to call Agent Garcia, since the woman was the shooting victim from Garcia's conference. Truth be told, the Miami police wanted none of this. The feds could take care of their own mess, the officers thought.

Unaware of what was happening, McCall had disposed of the weapons in the trunk of Barbara's car, and he was now considering whether to check into a hotel or return to the hospital. It was already 3:00 AM, and he knew he wouldn't get much sleep in any case, so he chose the hospital. When he arrived, the police cars and Agent Garcia's generic sedan were clustered around the entrance. My God, what now, McCall asked himself?

After parking the car, McCall rushed to the third floor. Stepping off the elevator, he saw exactly what he did not want to see: Agent Garcia in consultation with a Miami police officer. McCall strode directly to Garcia, ignoring the policeman.

"Alonzo, what is going on?" he demanded.

Garcia looked at McCall. How would he tell him that his wife was being held hostage in her hospital room, and that he had no idea who was holding her?

"Robert, someone went into Barbara's room about thirty minutes ago. We don't know what happened exactly, but when a nurse tried to enter, he shot at her."

"Is Barbara OK?" McCall asked, holding his breath.

"We know she's alive. There was a crash, and the nurse saw her lying on the floor. But she called out to the nurse that there was a gun, so…."

"On the floor? My God, Alonzo, if she fell on the floor, the wound, it must have…." McCall imagined the worst.

"Yes, I know, Robert. It's not good," Garcia said, putting his hand on McCall shoulder.

McCall turned away from Garcia and walked down the corridor. He had to think. If the man–he had a pretty good idea who it was–wanted her as a hostage, he would have to move her again. That was impossible, given her condition. Damn woman, why couldn't she just stop all of this? How many times had he asked himself that today, he wondered? It didn't matter now, he knew. He had to pull himself together. There must be a way.

Going back to Garcia, McCall asked: "When are you planning to establish contact with him?"

"Right now. It's been long enough; he's got to be worried by now."

"Alonzo, I doubt he's too worried. I think it's Carlos Costa," McCall said grimly.

For Garcia, this was a bolt out of the blue. "What? What in the world are you talking about, Robert? Carlos Costa?"

McCall pursed his lips and looked directly at Garcia: "That's why she was here, Alonzo. She was after him. The German, he was a complete surprise. Costa must have made her after she was shot, I don't know. But if it is Costa, he's not easily worried, as I'm sure you are aware."

"The gun, the silencer, those were for Costa?" Garcia said. "I see. Now he's in there with her, and he knows she was after him, that's what you're telling me, right?" This did not sound good to Garcia.

"Yes, correct. What she did, falling and making all the noise must have been to alert the staff so he couldn't kill her right away. At least she bought herself a little time," McCall said.

"Right. Now we're going to have to figure how to get her out. Time to contact him," the FBI agent replied.

As McCall and Garcia were talking, Dr. Ramirez arrived. They filled him in on the situation.

"She's fallen on the floor, you say? I'm sure you realize that this is very dangerous. The wound could be bleeding again. We've got to get to her," Ramirez said.

"Yes, doctor, we're certainly going to try." Speaking to McCall, Ramirez, and the police officers, he continued: "This is what we're going to do. I will call him, ask him what his demands are."

McCall added: "And find out what her condition is."

"Yes, of course," Garcia agreed.

Garcia went to the nurses' station, picked up the phone, and punched the number for Barbara's room. The man answered.

Garcia spoke first: "This is FBI Special Agent Alonzo Garcia."

"Hello, Agent Garcia. We met earlier today. This is…well, you know me as Filipe Calderon." Costa spoke quietly.

"Mr. Calderon, yes, we did meet earlier today, at the security briefing. Can you tell me why you are in Barbara Williams' hospital room in the middle of the night?"

"Yes, Agent Garcia. I am holding her hostage, and I am going to leave the hospital with her. You will provide a helicopter which will land on the roof of the hospital in one hour."

"I do not understand, Mr. Calderon…,"

"Agent Garcia, you do not need to understand. You simply have to do what I tell you, or she will die."

"If you kill her, how will you get out?"

"Ah, well, we all have to die sometime, is that not correct? But be assured, she will die with me," Costa said, making his threat perfectly clear.

"How do I know she's still alive right now? She was badly wounded. She could already be dead."

After a minute, Barbara came on the line.

"I'm here, Agent Garcia. The wound is…." Her voice broke off.

"She was about to tell you that the wound is bleeding, Agent Garcia," Costa finished for her.

"Mr. Calderon, please stay on the line. I will ask her doctor what we should do about her. It won't help you if she dies. You want to keep her alive." Garcia looked at McCall as he said these words. McCall took a deep breath and closed his eyes. It was that bad, he thought.

"No. First you agree to my terms. If you do not agree, there is no reason to treat the woman. I will kill her right now," said Costa. He pointed his gun at Barbara's head and put to phone to her mouth.

"Tell them, madam, go ahead."

"He is pointing the gun at my head," Barbara spoke into the phone.

Costa pulled the phone back.

"Now, Agent Garcia, what do you say?"

"Mr. Calderon, it will take time to…."

"Not good enough, Agent Garcia. One hour. Well, now it is fifty minutes."

"I cannot…."

They heard the gun discharge in the room. They all jumped. McCall ran toward the door.

"Did that get your attention," Costa asked? He put the phone back at Barbara's mouth.

"I'm OK. I…."

"Yes, only a little theater. But next time, it will be real," Costa hissed.

"I will do it," Garcia said.

"Good. Now go talk to the doctor." Costa hung up.

Lying on the floor, listening to Costa discuss her life and possible death, Barbara could feel the blood under her back. She had already lost too much blood from the wound and the surgery; she couldn't afford to lose much more. She had to trust the men outside–Robert was one of them, she was sure–to come up with a plan. Still, she refused to lie there and do nothing.

"Costa, I need the doctor. It's bleeding a lot." This was absolutely true. "You need me alive."

Costa looked at her. He could see the blood forming a circle under the woman's back. Why, he asked himself, had he not made sure she was dead when he first had the chance? Back in El Salvador, he had been more interested in the money than this one American, so he had not tried to catch her. When he saw her again on the gurney at the hotel, he realized with a start that he had seen her leaving the hotel earlier in the day. Why, he asked himself, had he not recognized her in time? It would have been so much easier to kill her yesterday. Now she had trapped him in this hospital room. If he could only kill her now and get it over with, he wished. No, they had to play this game.

The phone buzzed again.

"Yes," Costa answered.

Garcia spoke: "The doctor says he will go in and look at the wound, close it up again if necessary. Then he will leave. That will serve both of us."

Costa considered the idea. It was true that she was of no value to him dead, at least for the moment. He had little choice. He would let the doctor in. Maybe he'd even keep the doctor as a second hostage.

"This is acceptable to me. Send the doctor. No tricks. Remember I will have both of them. If there are any tricks, I can kill either one of them and still have a hostage," Costa warned.

"His name is Dr. Ramirez. He will try nothing," Garcia assured him.

Barbara breathed a sigh of relief when she heard the doctor was coming. At least she would stay alive for a couple more hours, she thought. Or, maybe something else would come of it?

After the call, Garcia, McCall, and Ramirez consulted at the nurses' station.

"Dr. Ramirez, just go in, take care of her, and come out. Don't try anything. It would be too dangerous," instructed Garcia.

McCall broke in. "Wait, Alonzo. Listen to me," he began. Turning to the doctor, he asked: "Do you think you can get a scalpel to her, Dr. Ramirez? I do not expect you to take any unnecessary chances. But perhaps you could get it into her hand somehow? Or put it under her back? You'll be working on her back…."

"A scalpel?" Dr. Ramirez asked incredulously. "What can she do with a scalpel? It could be very dangerous for her. I don't think it's a good idea."

Garcia nodded his head in agreement with the doctor. "Robert, he has a gun, she is weak and injured. I just can't see what good it would do."

Robert McCall knew how his wife would answer them: You're making the same mistake most men make. You're underestimating me.

Pursing his lips and frowning, McCall glared at the two men. Using the tone that inevitably forced people to take notice, he said: "Gentlemen, my wife will know exactly what to do with the scalpel."

Garcia and Ramirez looked at each other. This was the woman's husband, and he wanted to put her at greater risk? They didn't understand.

McCall was aware of what they must be thinking. No, they didn't understand, because they had probably never met a woman like Barbara. That thought suddenly took McCall's breath away, for he had never met a woman quite like Barbara before, either. He did not want to lose her. Was he wrong, he questioned himself? WAS he putting her at greater risk? Closing his eyes for a moment, he heard Barbara's answer: Maybe it's a risk, but that's how I want it.

"Believe me, it is the right thing," McCall told the others with complete conviction. "Unless you would rather not try, Dr. Ramirez? There is some danger for you. I will understand if you prefer not to do it." McCall was consciously challenging the young doctor's bravery. He was very good at this kind of thing.

"No," Ramirez replied, bristling and taking the bait. "I can do it. We'd better get started, or Costa will be suspicious."

Garcia still didn't like it but he had to admit they didn't have a better plan. "OK, let's go."

Ramirez collected the materials and tools he needed, including a scalpel, went to the door of Barbara's room and knocked. Costa called for him to come in.

Once inside, Ramirez found his patient lying on the floor on the far side of the bed. Costa sat on a chair next to her, gun in hand. The floor was littered with everything that had been on the bedside table, and blood was pooling around Barbara. Costa gestured that the doctor should come closer.

"Dr. Ramirez, here is your patient. Do your best. Quickly. Then leave."

Ramirez knelt next to Barbara. "Dr. Williams," he started, "I have to turn you on your side. I'm sorry, this will hurt, but it has to be done."

Barbara murmured her assent and held her breath while Ramirez moved her. She exhaled as the pain shot through her body. Ramirez assessed the wound, which had opened as he feared.

"I've got to redo the sutures. That's all I can do right now. I'm afraid this is going to hurt, too."

Why does he state the obvious, Barbara wondered? What didn't hurt? "Go ahead," she assented.

It did hurt, and it was difficult for her to maintain her position while he worked. Her left hand was under her left side; she held her right against the floor to help her balance. Costa watched from his chair, which faced Barbara. As the doctor was finishing up, the phone buzzed. Costa turned his head toward the noise. At that moment, Ramirez pressed the scalpel under Barbara's right hand. She closed her fingers around it.

"Yes," Costa said into the phone.

Garcia asked: "What is happening?"

"He's finished. He'll be out in a minute." He hung up.

"There, that's as good as I can do. She needs more care, Costa," the doctor said. He gently turned Barbara on her back. The scalpel was in her right hand, pressed against her side. The blade cut her hand, but she didn't care. Now she had a chance.

Costa debated quickly whether he should keep the doctor, then decided against it. It was too complicated.

"Thank you for your services, doctor. Go," he ordered.

Ramirez breathed a sigh of relief. He had closed the wound, and he had delivered the scalpel to the woman. For the moment, that was all he could do.

While the doctor was in the room, Garcia was discussing options with the local police and, by phone, with his superiors at the FBI. Giving Costa a helicopter not an option, but they had to make Costa think it was, so a helicopter was heading toward the hospital. When Costa left the room with the woman, they would take him out. They hoped the woman would survive, but getting Costa was a higher priority than her survival. This was harsh, but true.

McCall was fully aware what Garcia was discussing, and he knew where the FBI's priorities lay. They were not his priorities. What he would, or could, do if Barbara's life were in danger, he didn't know. In truth he was relying on his wife's ability to use the scalpel.

In her room, Barbara was on the same wavelength. This was just another mission, and she was focused on the job: Using this tool to kill this man. She had done it before, albeit under different circumstances, but she knew she could. Under these circumstances, it was essential that Costa be in the right position. She did not have the strength for any move that required much force.

"Well, my dear madam, I hope you feel better? You must get ready, for we will be leaving soon," Costa informed her. Costa had decided he must make his move now. The woman was probably as well as she would be. He picked up the phone and waited for Garcia to come on the line.

"I have done what you wanted. The woman has been treated. Now it is time for you to fulfill your end of the bargain. I gave you one hour to get the helicopter ready. Time is almost up."

As he said this, he could hear a helicopter. They had actually gotten the copter, he thought? Not that he believed they were planning to let him get the copter easily; he was not that naïve. But he still hoped to make it out of this situation alive, just as he had escaped many tight spots before.

"Ah, I hear that you have ordered the helicopter," he said to Garcia on the phone. "Very good. Now the woman and I are coming out of the room. Be very careful. I will kill her if necessary, be certain of that." He hung up.

Looking down at Barbara, he said: "It is time. We must go."

Seizing the opportunity, Barbara said: "There is no way I can walk out of here. I can't even get up by myself."

"Either you walk or I shoot you now."

"OK, OK, but at least you have to help me get up. I really can't get up. Please, help me," she pleaded. She produced some tears, partly because she really hurt, partly because she needed Costa off guard. "Look, you can keep your gun in one hand and put your other arm under my back. You've got to help me," she said in her most pitiable voice.

Women could be such bothers, Costa sighed to himself. But she HAD lost a lot of blood, and she was clearly weak, he thought. It would do him no good if she were injured again. He decided he must help her. Holding his gun in his left hand, he lowered himself down toward the prone woman, put his right arm under her back, and, supporting her, started to stand up.

Throwing her right hand across her body while she twisted, Barbara plunged the scalpel into the right side of his neck, then slashed sideways, slitting his neck open. Costa tried to swing the gun in his left hand around to shoot, but the weapon fell to the ground as he collapsed, pulling Barbara down on top of him.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen **

Outside the room, they waited for the door to open. Nothing happened. They waited. Still nothing happened. Finally Garcia picked up the phone, expecting Costa to answer. Nothing. He looked at McCall, but McCall's thoughts were elsewhere.

McCall was sure Barbara had used the scalpel. What he didn't know was whether she had been successful. That there had been no shot was a good sign. He was just about to relate this to Garcia when they heard a sound in the room.

"He's dead," Barbara tried to shout. It wasn't very loud, but loud enough, if you were listening as closely as McCall was. He pulled open the door and rushed inside, Garcia following closely behind.

Kneeling beside Barbara, McCall said: "Barbara, I'm here."

Garcia looked at the carnage in amazement. Costa was certainly dead, his throat expertly cut. Barbara was covered in blood, her own blood, and Costa's blood, but she was certainly alive. He shook his head. He'd never underestimate THIS woman again.

"Barbara, give me it to me," McCall said, attempting to loosen her grip on the scalpel. Barbara hardly heard him. She was reminding herself to breathe. She didn't realize she was clutching the scalpel so tightly that it was cutting further into her right hand.

"Barbara, give me the scalpel. It is cutting your hand," McCall entreated her.

She opened her eyes. Lifting her right hand, she stared at it as if it belonged to someone else. Abruptly pain shot from her hand through her body, and she dropped the scalpel with a cry.

By this time Ramirez had entered the room. He also knelt by Barbara.

"Stay right there, Dr. Williams. I'm going to stop the bleeding on your hand, then we'll get you out of here, to another room." He turned to a nurse standing in the doorway and instructed her to bring what he needed.

"Barbara, I'm getting out of Dr. Ramirez' way. Don't worry, I'll be here, but he needs room to work," McCall told his wife.

"Ummm," she answered. She was still reliving the past few minutes.

In due time, her hand was bandaged, and they moved her from the shambles of her original room to another on the sixth floor. Costa and her old room were now part of a crime scene, and the Miami police CSI unit was again doing its job. Eventually his body was taken to the morgue.

Barbara knew nothing of what became of Costa. After Dr. Ramirez checked her back wound again–the sutures had held and the bleeding had stopped–she was cleaned up and transported to the new room. Somewhere in the middle of this process, she finished reliving the Costa killing and returned to the present. Many parts of her body were suffering, not only from the surgical wound and the cuts on her hand, but also from falling to the floor. Still, she was alive. That was more than could be said of Costa.

Eventually she lay in her new bed, an IV attached to her right arm, other monitors keeping track of her oxygen saturation level, her blood pressure, and her heart rate. The beehive of activity that had surrounded her for the last hour was calming down. A healthy dose of pain meds was coursing its way through her system.

The nurse finished the last ministrations and left. The only one in the room was Robert, sitting by her bed looking very tired and unusually unkempt; after all, he had been up for over twenty-four hours. It was 5:00 AM, and the sun would be rising soon. Out the window they would be able to see a beautiful, panoramic view of the Miami area, but it was still dark now.

Before the pain meds put her out completely, Barbara wanted to discuss a few things with her husband.

"Robert," she began in a very quiet voice.

"Yes, my dear," he responded in a very tired voice.

"I'm sorry. I think I said I was sorry before, but I can't remember," she said.

"Yes, you did."

"What did I say I was sorry for?" She couldn't recall. It could be so many things, she knew.

"Hum, let me see…." He was gently teasing her.

"Robert, I mean it."

"You said you were sorry that you came here without telling me."

She thought that over. She was starting to drift with the narcotic.

"Well, good, that's true, I am sorry I came here without telling you. I wasn't sure what you'd say, you know. No, actually I did know what you'd say, and I didn't want to hear it." She was finding it difficult to say what she wanted.

"Yes, I thought as much. You're right, I would have tried to convince you not to come," McCall told her.

"You see," she said, as if she'd scored a point, "that's why I didn't tell you."

"My dear, you are being illogical. You must be feeling the drugs."

"Oh," she said. She couldn't figure out what he was talking about.

After a few minutes silence, she said: "Robert?"

"Yes, Barbara."

"I thought it was you who sent the scalpel. It was, wasn't it?"

"Yes, Barbara."

"Hum, I thought so."

"My dear, you are being redundant."

"The drugs again?"

"Probably."

"Thank you for thinking of the scalpel."

"You're welcome. I knew you'd figure a way to use it."

"Robert?"

"Yes, Barbara."

"Do you think Garcia will do anything about the gun and the silencer?"

"I don't know. We'll have to wait and see."

"Hum…," Barbara responded. "What about the German?"

"Someone's coming from the German embassy tomorrow to meet with Garcia. Garcia wanted to talk to you at 9:00. It's almost," McCall glanced at his watch, "5:30 AM, and the meeting is at 10:00. I don't know if he'll be back by 9:00."

"Hum…," she murmured. "Robert?"

"Yes, Barbara."

"I got him, didn't I?"

"Yes, my love, you did."

"Legally."

"Yes, legally."

"I'm glad," she said with a slight smile, before gliding into drug-induced oblivion.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

McCall sat and watched Barbara sleep. He was worried that the nightmares might reappear, now that the dammed business with the prison had been stirred up again. However, she seemed to be sleeping quietly, so he decided he could leave for a couple of hours. He needed to get a hotel room; he needed a shower and a shave; he needed a change of clothes; and he also needed some sleep.

Before he left Barbara's floor, he told the head nurse that he would be back by 8:30, in case she asked for him, and that he would call as soon as he had a hotel room, so they could reach him if necessary. Then he went down to Barbara's car and drove to a small hotel Dr. Ramirez had recommended. It was about ten minutes away. He checked in, called the hospital with his telephone number, asked for a wake-up call at 8:00, lay down and was asleep immediately.

Just after he got home from the hospital, Alonzo Garcia had a call from FBI Headquarters informing him that one of the higher ups in the Bureau would be attending the meeting with the Germans. Garcia asked how many Germans were coming, since he'd been told earlier that one was coming. No, there were two Germans: one from the embassy, and one who was flying in from Bonn, an important person from the Bundesnachrichtendienst. As he was falling asleep, Garcia wondered how much bigger this mess Robert McCall and his wife had gotten themselves—and him—into would get.

When McCall arrived back at the hospital around 8:30, as promised, Barbara was still asleep. He hoped Garcia would not show up for their "conversation," but he doubted his hope would be fulfilled. The man had a job to do, and he was probably feeling pressure from all sides. Plus he was still in charge of the peace conference, which started tomorrow, Wednesday. McCall was certainly glad he was not in his friend's shoes. He sat for a few minutes at Barbara's bedside, then went out into the corridor to wait for Garcia.

Shortly before 9:00, Garcia stepped off the elevator at the sixth floor. He had a half hour to interview Barbara Williams if he was to get back to his office in time to meet the German deputation. He saw McCall waiting for him.

"Good morning, Robert," he said, shaking hands with the older man.

"Alonzo," McCall replied.

"How is she?" Garcia asked.

"Sleeping."

Garcia frowned. "You knew I was coming, Robert. I've only got thirty minutes."

"I know, Alonzo. But I wanted to let her sleep as long as possible. I'll warn you, she's still drugged. She might not be able to say much."

Garcia didn't like this, but he might have to consider himself lucky that she was able to talk at all, given what had happened earlier this morning.

"Yes, I suppose there's nothing we can do about that," he began, putting his hand on McCall's arm. "I didn't have a chance to tell you last night, Robert. You have a pretty remarkable wife. Thank goodness she's OK."

"You're right, Alonzo. She is remarkable. I just wish the whole thing were over," McCall said in a tired voice.

Garcia smiled a tight smile. "I do too, Robert, I do too."

McCall shrugged his shoulders slightly, returned the tight smile, and said: "I'll go wake Barbara."

It took a little time for Barbara to realize that Robert was trying to wake her up. She didn't want to wake up. The drugs were still flowing through her body, and her mind was at rest for a change. All she wanted to do was continue to drift along, oblivious to the world. But Robert kept talking to her, making her pay attention. Damn, she thought, just let me sleep. Finally she opened her eyes.

"Robert, stop. Let me sleep," she said petulantly.

"I'm sorry, Barbara, but you have to wake up, at least for a little while. Garcia is here to talk to you about the German." If only he could let her sleep, McCall thought. It was simply not possible.

The German. The watcher. No, she thought, she didn't want to talk about him. She wanted to banish him from her mind, not tell someone about him.

"No, I don't want to talk about him. Tell him what I told you."

"There's nothing I'd like to do more, my love, but it won't do. He insists on talking to you," McCall said, taking her hand. "Just tell him the barest essentials."

She looked at him, tears starting in her eyes. She hated to cry. She especially didn't want to cry now; Garcia would detect the traces of her tears. But she didn't seem to be able to control herself. Probably the drugs, she told herself.

McCall noticed the tears, and he knew how much she hated to cry. Softly touching her face, he said: "Barbara, let's just get it over with. Then you don't have to talk about it ever again."

She nodded, pulling herself together. It wouldn't take long. Then she could forget him, she told herself. She was lying; she knew she would never truly forget him. But the lie would get her through this moment.

After a quick kiss for Barbara, McCall went to the door and let Garcia in.

"Hello, Dr. Williams. I hope you're feeling better?"

"Agent Garcia, let's get this over with," Barbara responded as forcefully as she could.

"Fine, Dr. Williams," he replied. "Please tell me exactly what happened yesterday, starting when you and Karl Frenzel met in the lobby."

"We did not 'meet' in the lobby, Agent Garcia. He came up to me and pushed a pistol into my ribs. I wouldn't call that 'meeting,'" Barbara snapped at him.

"Point taken."

"He told me to walk to the elevators, or he would kill me right there."

"Did you have any idea why this man would want to kill you?"

"Not really. I recognized him from Bautzen, but I didn't know anything more. I didn't know he was with the BND," she said truthfully.

"But you did recognize him immediately?"

"Yes," Barbara said firmly.

"No question in your mind?"

"No question."

"Please continue."

"We got on the elevator. Robert got on with us. I was surprised, because I didn't know Robert had followed me to Miami." She glanced at her husband with a small smile.

Barbara went on: "When we got off, the German told me to move toward room 518. He gave me the key and told me to open the door. Once I heard the lock click open, I dove forward, hoping that Robert would get him before he could shoot me." She again glanced toward her husband. "Unfortunately our timing was off. The German shot me before Robert was able to shoot him."

"I'm very sorry, my dear. Our timing WAS off," McCall said to his wife apologetically.

"That's all there is. He tried to kill me, and Robert killed him." Barbara tried to make this statement sound final.

"What do you think would have happened if you had not forced the issue?" Garcia knew this question would come up later.

"I don't understand." Barbara did understand, but she was still trying to stop the interview.

"What if you had gone into the room? Maybe he just wanted to talk to you?"

"No, Agent Garcia. He told me he was going to kill me in the room." This wasn't quite the truth, but Barbara didn't care. She knew he was planning to kill her in that room, even if he hadn't said it directly.

"We only have your word for that, Dr. Williams." The Germans would surely raise this issue, too.

Now McCall spoke up. "For God's sake, Alonzo, the man shot her. In the back. He didn't want to talk to her. He wanted to eliminate her so she could not identify him. It is absolutely self-evident!" He was angry. This was getting out of hand, and he wanted it stopped.

"Calm down, Robert," Garcia admonished McCall, putting up his hand. "You know as well as I do that others are going to ask these same questions."

"'Others,' like the people you're meeting later?" McCall demanded.

"Yes, like them. I have to give them answers," he insisted. Turning back to Barbara he said: "They will also want to know if you are positive it's the same man."

"Yes, I am positive." How many more times was she going to have to say this, she wondered?

"It was a long time ago."

"I am positive." Barbara stared at him. Damn it, she thought, for once she was telling a policeman the whole truth, and he didn't believe her.

Garcia returned her stare for a moment. Actually, he did believe her; he just didn't know if the others would. Finally he dropped his gaze. His watch told him it was time to leave for the 10:00 meeting.

"All right, that's all. Thank you. I hope you can get some rest." Garcia sympathized with Barbara Williams.

Barbara nodded and closed her eyes.

"Good luck at the meeting," McCall told Agent Garcia.

"I'll need it," he said grimly and left.

Barbara had been so focused on answering Garcia's questions that she didn't realize that she had pushed the pain out of her mind. Now it came rushing back, and she groaned.

McCall looked at her in dismay. "Are you all right?"

"Do you think you can get them to up the pain meds, please? It's hurting a lot," she asked shakily.

Just as Barbara was posing her question, Dr. Ramirez walked into the room accompanied by the nurse on duty for Barbara's room, Alva Carson. The doctor had seen Garcia leaving the room, and he was not pleased. She was supposed to be resting, not talking with the FBI.

"Good morning, Dr. Williams," he began. "How are you feeling?"

"Ah, well, OK. But I could use a little more morphine or whatever you're giving me. Every part of my body seems to hurt," she said through gritted teeth.

"You did have an eventful night. Falling on the floor probably didn't do your body much good." He made a note on the chart he was carrying. "Mrs. Carson, would you please take care of it?" Carson nodded and left.

"Now, would you tell me what Agent Garcia was doing here?" he said sternly.

McCall looked at Barbara and answered: "He had to talk to Barbara about the shooting yesterday. The man was a German national security operative, and the Germans are giving Garcia a hard time about it."

Ramirez shook his head. "I should have been informed. I would have had a few choice words for Agent Garcia." He didn't appreciate interference with his patients, from the FBI or anyone else. "Well, it's over now, I suppose."

Carson returned with the additional pain meds.

Barbara sighed. Soon it would be better.

"Dr. Williams, let me take a look at your back," Ramirez said.

Oh, shit, Barbara swore to herself and moaned, thinking: Here we go again. Once more holding her breath, she braced herself as Ramirez and Carson turned her on her side. Just hurry up, she told them, hoping they would receive her telepathic signals.

Ramirez examined the wound and the sutures. "Good, it looks just fine. It shouldn't take too long for it to heal." They turned her onto her back.

McCall had watched the pain in Barbara's face. If only this would be over, he thought. He wanted to get back to New York, to their comfortable apartment, to his job, to a normal life. Well, as normal as their life ever was, he reminded himself.

"I think we should all leave and let Dr. Williams rest," Ramirez said looking pointedly at McCall. It wasn't a suggestion; it was an order.

"I'll just be a moment," McCall countered the doctor's order.

Ramirez glared at him, but let it pass. He and Carson left.

Barbara looked at McCall and said: "Robert, there's something I want you to do for me."

"What, my dear?"

"To get some sleep. Did you find a hotel?" McCall shook his head yes. "Good, then go there and sleep. I'll be fine."

"Is that an order, Barbara?" He smiled.

"Yes, Robert, it is an order. Come back later this afternoon."

McCall knew he needed the sleep. The short rest he had gotten this morning was not enough. When he was thirty he could go forever. At sixty-two, it just didn't work.

He bent down and kissed Barbara. "I'll see you this afternoon."

She smiled and closed her eyes. McCall left the room. Making sure the head nurse had the telephone number at his hotel, McCall left the hospital, relishing the idea of a few hours of uninterrupted sleep.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

The additional medication kicked in quickly, and Barbara felt the pain ease. Willing herself to relax and forget about the German and Costa and everything, she slipped into a relatively peaceful sleep. Something kept clawing at the back of her mind, demanding to intrude on her rest, but either she or the meds kept the creature at bay.

Later, she didn't know how long, she awoke with a start. When she opened her eyes, Agent Garcia was standing next to her bed again. He was saying: "Dr. Williams, wake up." Barbara was very groggy after the big dose of pain meds. She thought perhaps it was a dream. When she saw that there were three more men in suits standing around her bed, she revised her assessment. Perhaps it was a nightmare? She decided the best thing was to close her eyes and wait until it went away.

"Dr. Williams, wake up. It is imperative that we speak with you," Garcia insisted.

Shit, she thought, they're not going away. She opened her eyes again.

"Dr. Williams, this is the Head of the Legal section from the German…," he kept going but she couldn't understand him. He looked at another man, and she heard the word "Bundesnachrichtendienst," though the way Garcia pronounced it, she wasn't sure. She also thought he said "Bonn." She kept wondering what was going on, still not certain it was real. Garcia pointed to the fourth man, dressed in an ill-fitting suit, "… is George," she missed the name again, "assistant director of the FBI from Washington." That she heard clearly. "Over there is Marianne Jaspers, from the German contingent at the Conference."

Marianne, Barbara thought with surprise? She tried to see her German friend, but she was hidden behind the men. Oh no, she told herself, Garcia is talking again. I'd better pay attention.

"…, but they want to talk to you in person about Frenzel."

She couldn't remember who Frenzel was. Did she know anyone named Frenzel, she asked herself?

"Mrs. Williams, are you listening?"

Who had said that, Barbara wondered? It was the George FBI person. I'd better say something, she thought.

"Ah, yes, I'm listening."

Then one of the German men was speaking, but she had stopped listening. She was remembering who they were calling "Frenzel"…. God no, they're going to ask me about HIM, AGAIN, she told herself. No, I'm not going to talk about him. Why do they all keep asking me about him? Just go away and leave me alone, she pleaded. Did she say that aloud, she wondered?

"Mrs. Williams, you must listen. You must talk to us about Frenzel," a harsh, accented voice said. One of the Germans was ordering her to talk about Frenzel. No, she said to herself.

"No," she said aloud.

"No?" the German asked.

"No, I will not talk to you about…him." There, she'd said it.

Now Garcia spoke: "Dr. Williams, you have no choice. You are a witness in a capital crime involving Karl Frenzel. You must speak with us."

Groggily, she considered what he said. She couldn't think straight. This must be wrong, this questioning her when she was drugged. Was it legal? She doubted it, but what could she do? No choice…she always seemed to have no choice….

"Mrs. Williams, you told Agent Garcia that you saw Karl Frenzel in the German Democratic Republic in 1985. That cannot be. We have records proving that Karl Frenzel was living in Munich in 1985."

The whole thing was coming back to her, as her head cleared. It finally sunk in: They had sent someone all the way from Bonn. They must be really worried, she comprehended. Of course, it was a black eye for the BND, if this Frenzel had been a Stasi officer. How did he go from Stasi officer in 1985 to the BND? That was the question they would have to answer, IF she were telling the truth.

"How could you have seen him?" pressed Ulrich Waldeck, the assistant director of the BND. What Barbara had surmised was true. Waldeck knew it would indeed be an embarrassment if Frenzel had infiltrated the service before unification; that he had simply stayed after unification without anyone catching on was unthinkable.

Beyond the public embarrassment, there were personal issues. If Frenzel was not who he thought he was, this man had made a fool of Waldeck, who had trusted Frenzel implicitly, considering him one of his best agents. Why his best agent had shot the woman in the back, he didn't know, but Waldeck was certain he must have had a good reason—didn't he?

On top of it all, Robert McCall was involved. McCall and Waldeck had worked together a number of times, and the Agency man had always proved himself the better operative. He did not like Robert McCall.

While Waldeck was recalling his dislike of her husband, Barbara was trying to put together a coherent response. She knew that this man could not have been in Munich when she had seen him in the East German prison. She felt compelled to give them some kind of answer, as much as she wanted to resist.

Waldeck pushed her again: "You must answer. How could you have seen him? He wasn't there."

"The man you're calling Frenzel…," she began. The BND assistant director bristled. "I saw him in Bautzen in 1985."

"I told you, that is not possible!" he exclaimed.

"He was there. Spring, 1985." She was adamant.

"You are mistaken!" he declared vehemently. Then, hoping to catch her off guard, he softened his tone: "Come, Mrs. Williams, it was long ago. How can you possibly be sure?"

"I am not mistaken," she said in a controlled voice. She considered how to say what she had to say. "It was not long ago. It is now."

"What in the world?" the FBI assistant director asked. He was familiar with Williams' record. She had served the Agency well for many years. But had she lost it, he thought?

"It is yesterday, it is today, it will be tomorrow. I will never forget him. I can close my eyes and see him any time. I am not mistaken." Barbara was fighting to keep emotion out of her voice. Under normal circumstances she was very good at this, but the meds were making it much harder. Plus, she felt the weight of these four men, all bearing down on her. It was as though they were trying to change her life. If only she COULD change it, she thought angrily. But no, that man would always be part of her life.

"Perhaps you only saw him once or twice? How could you remember if you only saw him once or twice?" Waldeck asked.

She laughed, bitterly. "He was there every day, watching." This was getting too close to what she did not want to say.

The BND man snorted. "So, he was watching…." He was consciously demeaning her words, demeaning HER. Now it was personal. He wanted to break her. "If you're so sure he was there, tell us exactly what he was doing, other than watching, I mean," he sneered.

Listening to Waldeck pressuring Barbara, Garcia wondered whether this vile man had read the woman's file, the one the FBI assistant director had shown him. He himself certainly didn't want to know what the man in the prison, whoever he was, had done to her. In fact, he didn't like any of this; he had tried to talk them out of it, but his superior had overruled him. Garcia believed Barbara. Why didn't the others simply accept it: Frenzel had been an East German spy. It was their screw up, but they were making Barbara pay for it, Garcia thought, and his boss was going along with it. There was nothing he could do to help her.

The Head of Legal Section from Washington, Ulrich Schmidt, also didn't want to hear any more. The BND was behind this whole enquiry, because they did not want to take responsibility for their stupidity. But why take it out on this woman, Schmidt was asking himself? He had family in the east, and she had been in that horrible prison because she helped people in the east. They should just leave her alone. He tried to signal Waldeck to stop, but he plowed ahead. If Schmidt had known how much Waldeck personally disliked her husband, Robert McCall, maybe he would have demanded Waldeck stop then and there. But he did not know.

The assistant director of the FBI, George Sanders, was getting tired of this whole affair. He had other things on his mind. He knew the Germans had screwed up, but he had been instructed to go along with whatever they wanted. He did nothing.

Standing near the door behind the men, Marianne Jaspers was appalled at what they were doing to her friend. If only she could help, she thought. But there was nothing she could do.

Barbara looked at the four men around her bed. She had never told anyone but Robert what had happened in the room where the man "Frenzel" had sat and watched. She wasn't about to tell these bastards, she vowed.

"I am not going to tell you," she said, gritting her teeth but holding her ground.

"Well, you clearly do not know it was Frenzel. You have forgotten," Waldeck said with triumph in his voice. The other men stared at the floor or out the window, anywhere but at Barbara. Hard as it was, Marianne looked directly at Barbara, willing her to be strong.

Barbara's anger burned white hot. It blew everything else out of her mind, leaving her in state of complete calm. She could do something to save herself, and she did. She sat up a little in the bed. It didn't hurt too much, because the pain meds were still active. She turned the covers back, untied her hospital gown, and opened it. The men froze.

Pointing to the scar on her right breast, she looked directly at Waldeck and said, with no sign of emotion: "If I ever forget, this reminds me. He told the other one to cut me right here. Then he watched. That's what I meant, he watched." Opening the gown more, she went on: "He left me other reminders, too. You see, here's another, right here…." She was pointing at the scar on her left breast, the one where she thought they were going to cut off….

Garcia exclaimed, moving to cover her again: "No, Barbara, please."

She spoke to Garcia but didn't take her eyes off Waldeck: "But Agent Garcia, he doesn't seem to understand. I have even better evidence than his, you see, here…." She moved the covers down farther.

The Head of Legal Section was mortified. Damn this fool from the BND, he cringed. "That's enough," Schmidt said, to everyone in the room.

The fool from the BND was not satisfied, though. "Just because you have scars doesn't mean you remember the man. We have written proof…."

Griping his arm, Schmidt moved his compatriot away from the bed and said stonily: "Perhaps we should reexamine YOUR evidence, Herr Waldeck."

Barbara knew then that she had won. Her show and tell—that's how she thought of it—was making them back off. But she didn't feel victorious; she only felt drained and exhausted, her anger burned out. She lay back and closed her eyes, hoping they'd be gone when she opened them again.

The door burst open. Thank goodness, she sighed.

Robert McCall was livid. When he saw who was in Barbara's room, he was certain what was happening. They—including his supposed friend, Garcia—had taken advantage of his absence and Barbara's weakened condition to put pressure on her, probably to change her story, probably to save their own skins.

McCall seldom raised his voice, but this time it was necessary. "All of you, get out of here, now!" he shouted, pointing to the door. "Get out!"

"Robert…," Garcia started, wanting to apologize.

McCall turned his head to Garcia and snarled: "YOU, out." Next, he stepped into Waldeck's space, put his hand on the man's chest and said: "Waldeck, I bet this was all your idea. I always knew you were a fool, but I never knew you were a sadistic son of a bitch." He shoved Waldeck toward the door.

By this time, assistant director Sanders, who recognized McCall, and the Head of Legal Section, who didn't want to know who this man was, had already retreated. A red-faced Waldeck turned on his heel and left, followed by Garcia. As Garcia passed McCall, he said: "Robert, I had to. I didn't have a choice."

McCall only glowered at him.

Marianne Jaspers had not left. She approached Barbara and said: "Barbara, I am so sorry."

Barbara opened her eyes to talk to her friend. "Marianne, you've seen what it's like. Think about it."

Marianne nodded and walked through the door. She'd hand in her resignation tomorrow.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

A few minutes later, Dr. Ramirez and Nurse Carson had finally gotten back into their patient's room. They didn't know what had gone on while they were outside. Barbara was lying still, and they could see from the monitors that her blood pressure was elevated, and she was breathing erratically. She had been through an ordeal, that much was clear. But they couldn't imagine why her gown was in disarray.

Ramirez nodded at Carson, who said soothingly: "Dr. Williams, let me help you." As she was closing Barbara's gown and repositioning the bed linens, Barbara smiled a little at the nurse, thinking how strange this must look.

She said: "I thought the scars would make them go away…." As Barbara's nurse, Carson was familiar with Williams' scars, but how showing them could make the men go away, that she did not understand.

McCall was heading back to Barbara's bed when he heard her comment. He did not know what had gone on in the room either, but he had no doubt what she was talking about.

Speaking to McCall and Barbara, Ramirez said: "I am very sorry this happened. When they arrived I told them categorically that they could not see you, but they refused to listen. Then they put a man on the door and would not let us in."

McCall nodded. "I know you did what you could, doctor." Barbara nodded in agreement.

When he had arrived after being called at his hotel, McCall had assessed the situation instantly and acted. Ignoring the man keeping watch, he had forced his way through the door. Dr. Ramirez could not be expected to do the same, McCall understood that.

Dr. Ramirez decided it was time for him to retake control of his hospital and his patient. He said: "Dr. Williams, you must get some rest. You've been here for almost twenty-four hours, and you haven't had more than a couple of hours of uninterrupted sleep."

Barbara rather resented what the doctor said, wondering if he thought it was her fault that she hadn't gotten any rest? All she'd wanted to do for the last day was sleep.

Before she could make a sarcastic remark, the doctor went on: "How is the pain?"

She considered it. Now that she didn't have to think straight, the last dose of pain medication was wearing off. Great timing, she thought. "I could use a little more," she told him.

"Right." Ramirez gave Nurse Carson instructions.

"After that's taken care of, you are going to rest. Mr. McCall, you are going to leave…."

"No, doctor, I am not going to leave," McCall said in a tone that brooked no contradiction.

Barbara smiled. She had hoped he'd say that.

"Mr. McCall…," the doctor tried again.

"Dr. Ramirez, twice I have left, and twice my wife has been assaulted in your hospital." He held up his hand as Ramirez started to protest. "I am fully aware that neither you nor the hospital was at fault. But I am staying. If you want to help, you can arrange for a cot to be brought in. If you do not care to help, I will sit in this chair. But mind you, I am not leaving." McCall riveted his gaze on Ramirez until the doctor was forced to avert his eyes.

"Very well," the doctor said. He knew he had lost the battle, so he decided he might as well surrender in the war, too. "I will have a cot brought in."

"Thank you, Dr. Ramirez," McCall said. "I will not disturb my wife."

"Doctor," Barbara broke in. "I will rest better with him here, believe me."

"All right, all right, I've already given in," Dr. Ramirez said.

Carson returned and added the pain meds to Barbara's drip. Ramirez filled the nurse in on the agreed-upon arrangement. Although it was irregular, Carson was glad the man was staying. She liked her new patient and didn't want her to be in danger again. She had enough scars on her body, Carson thought. She'd be safer with her husband, the one who carried a gun, in her room.

Soon the cot had been delivered, the doctor and nurse had left, and McCall was sitting in the chair at Barbara's bedside.

As for Barbara, she was just glad the men were gone and the ordeal was over…if it was over. To her it had sounded like the German from Washington had reprimanded the German from Bonn and forced him to back down. The FBI man from Washington would go along with what the Germans wanted, she was sure.

"Robert?" she asked wearily.

"Yes, Barbara?" McCall answered.

"Do you know any of them personally, other than Garcia, I mean?"

"Yes. Waldeck, the one I shoved…," McCall was a little embarrassed he had done that, "he and I have worked together in the past. An idiot. The second German, no, I don't know him."

"I think Garcia said he was from Washington, but I didn't get everything he said."

"Ah, yes," McCall responded. "Makes sense. The other American was George Sanders. He's somewhere up in the FBI chain of command. We've met, but I don't know much about him."

She gazed at a spot on the ceiling and said quietly: "It was all so pointless."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know what they thought I was going to do…," she said. "I would never have said anything about him publically, to the press or anything, you know that."

"Yes, I know, but obviously they didn't," he answered logically. "What do you want to do now?" He'd noticed she'd used the past tense.

"I still don't want to talk about him to the press. But if there were some other way to get back at them…," she speculated.

"We probably could get back at them. But are you sure you'd want to?"

She dropped her eyes from the spot on the ceiling to his face.

"I'll think about it," she said. She was getting very tired.

McCall had one more question. "Who was the woman, the one in your room?"

Barbara knew that McCall must have observed her and Marianne meeting earlier, when was it, yesterday? She was too worn out to talk a lot, and the meds were flowing, but she sketched her relationship with Marianne, and what the young woman had done to help her with Costa. That was about all the talk she had in her.

"I…I hope she gets out. She deserves better…." Barbara mumbled, just before she dosed off.

McCall watched his wife sleep and thought: You deserved better, too, my dear Barbara.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

McCall slept fitfully on the cot for a few hours that afternoon. Not only was the bed uncomfortable, but he also kept feeling like he should wake up and make sure Barbara was all right. About 4:30 he decided he'd just get up. Barbara was sleeping quietly, apparently undisturbed by the ghosts of her past. As he was standing by the bed, the door opened and Nurse Carson walked in. She gestured silently for McCall to come outside. A few minutes later McCall came back into the room carrying a newspaper and a large purse. He put the bag on the floor, sat down near the window, and read the paper while his wife slept.

At 5:30, Nurse Carson returned, waking Barbara. She checked her vital signs and made sure she was comfortable, then said: "Dr. Williams, it's time for dinner. You haven't had much of anything to eat since you've been here. Now that you've slept a bit, it's time to eat something."

Barbara had wanted to keep sleeping, but when Carson mentioned food, she realized that she was VERY hungry. She couldn't even remember when she had eaten the last time.

"Ummm, you're right. I'm so hungry."

"Good, they'll be here in a few minutes. How do you feel?"

"OK, I guess. I'll have to think about it." She looked at the monitor, blinking away by the bed. She was beginning to hate the monitor. She didn't like the idea that everyone could see just what was going on inside her. She'd spent her whole life hiding what was going on inside her, and this was very uncomfortable.

"Nurse Carson," she began.

"Honey, call me Alva," Carson countered.

"OK, Alva, please call me Barbara," she said.

"Deal. What did you want to ask, Barbara?"

"Can we turn this thing off? I'm OK now, aren't I? Why do you need it?"

"It's not up to me. But I'll ask the doctor."

"Thanks, Alva."

McCall had been listening to this exchange from his seat by the window. He was happy to hear that Barbara was getting back to her old self: Hungry and making demands. All the talk about food reminded him that he was hungry, too.

"Barbara," he said.

"Robert, I forgot you were here."

"Thank you very much," he answered with a smile.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean…."

He held up one hand. "I know, I know."

"What were you going to say?"

"While you're eating, I'm going to go get something for myself. I'll be back shortly. Is that OK?"

"Of course, Robert. I'll be fine."

After they'd finished eating and were settled in for the evening, McCall sitting by the bed and Barbara dozing, he decided it was time for a conversation he had been putting off.

"Barbara," he started, waking her from the light sleep.

"Yes, Robert," she said, stifling a yawn.

"We have to talk." He purposely kept his tone serious.

Uh oh, Barbara thought. This can't be good. She sat up in the bed.

"About what?"

"First, about your leaving, on Sunday."

"Didn't we talk about that already?" she said hopefully.

"Only when you were full of drugs."

"Aren't I full of drugs now?" she asked, half in jest, half trying to get out of this conversation.

"No."

"Oh."

McCall wasn't quite sure how to do this. In the past, he had been the one who had gone away. He had left Kay and Scott to go off to war or to whatever mission was on the docket for that week or month or year. He had not known what it felt like to be left behind. Now he did.

"Barbara," he started, but she broke in.

"Robert, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done it. But when Winston called and told me about Costa…," She knew it sounded like an excuse.

"Is that what happened?" McCall asked.

"Haven't I told you?" she replied. Then it all came out in a rush, because she was very nervous. "Yes, Winston, he's a Red Line guy, he called and told me they knew Costa was coming to the Conference. Robert, I never told you about Costa." She repeated the story. "Don't you see, I had to come. It might have been my only chance."

"Your only chance at what?" he asked, keeping his eyes riveted on her face.

"Getting him," she retorted, finding it hard to stand up to his gaze.

"Why?"

"Why?"

"You know what I mean, Barbara." He wasn't going to let her get out of this.

"You also know it's complicated, Robert." She was annoyed. He made it sound so black and white. "I wanted revenge. Is that what you want me to say? OK, it's true. But I also wanted justice for all the people he's killed over the years."

"So you decided you'd play God?"

"Damn it, Robert, it isn't like you haven't done the same thing!" she said vehemently. "And haven't we had this conversation before?"

"Yes, and after the conversation, you said you'd stop doing it." He had put her on the spot, just as he had planned.

She had said that. She hadn't promised, but still, she had said it. Now, she didn't say a word.

He knew what she was thinking. "I know, I know. You didn't promise. Maybe I can't expect you to give it up completely," he said, resignation in his voice.

Could she promise, she asked herself? "I don't know if I can promise, Robert. Things from the past keep catching up with me. I think they're gone, and then they appear again. I don't know if I can ignore them. Do you? Just ignore them, I mean? Really?"

McCall glanced away, reflecting on what she had asked. Turning back to look her straight in the eyes again, he answered: "Barbara, I don't just ignore them." He had as many pasts as Barbara did, maybe more, and they kept coming back, too. "But there are priorities. If something comes up, should I go off and try to get revenge or justice or whatever you call it? Or should I stay with the woman I love? I've made the wrong choice too often. I'm not going to do it again."

Barbara had to drop her eyes, for his words stung. Had she put revenge above her love for him? It hadn't seemed that way when she'd left on Sunday. But she was realizing that she hadn't given it enough thought before leaving; maybe she hadn't really thought about it at all. She'd only thought about the job, getting Costa. And what had she done only a few hours ago? Talked about revenge against the men who had come to her room.

She took a deep breath and lifted her eyes to look at Robert again.

"I don't know what to say, Robert. I am sorry. I didn't think it through when I left. I was so focused on the job that it seemed right." Barbara choked the words out.

McCall recognized that he could have used exactly these words twenty years ago in apologizing to Kay. Was he being too hard on Barbara, he asked himself? He couldn't expect her to know what he knew; she hadn't had the same experiences.

Barbara screwed up her courage to go on: "It's no excuse, but I'm not used to any of this. There's never been anyone to worry about me. I've never had someone to worry about. I don't seem to be very good at it. Please forgive me." She looked down, tears welling in her eyes.

Before he could say anything, she raised her eyes again and said: "I love you, Robert. You know that, don't you?"

How could he stay angry at her? If she hadn't been lying in a hospital bed, he would have taken her in his arms and made love to her. As it was, all he could do was caress her face.

"Yes, I know, Barbara. I love you, too." He bent down and kissed her. Then he took her hand and sat back in the chair, while she closed her eyes and tried to slow her heart rate and breathing. The monitor was showing her emotions, and if she wasn't careful, the whole hospital would be in here, wanting to know what was going on.

They held hands for a long time, comfortable with each other again.

A while later, McCall said: "Barbara."

"Yes, Robert," she replied, eyes still closed.

"There are a couple more things we have to talk about."

"Bad things? Because if they're bad, I don't want to hear," she said grumpily, keeping her eyes closed.

"Not bad things. Good things," he assured her.

"OK, go ahead."

"Garcia was here earlier."

"That's not a bad thing? Sounds bad to me." Barbara never wanted to hear that name again.

"He brought your bag back." After a pause, he continued: "With the gun and the silencer. And your fake IDs. He put them in my hands, no comment."

"Oh, that is good. He's not going to take any action," she said, opening her eyes. It was a relief.

"He also told me that the Cubans have distanced themselves from Costa. They must have figured how it would make them look, letting that man into their security forces. They're not going to take any action, either."

"You're right, that is also good news." She seemed to have escaped any repercussions about the terrorist's death. Justly so, she told herself.

"Garcia also apologized about this afternoon, again."

"What did you say?" She thought she knew, but she was curious.

"Nothing."

"Robert McCall, I'm glad I'm not your enemy," she said, meaning it.

He lifted and eyebrow and shrugged. "I don't think you have to worry about that, my dear."

"Any more good things?" Barbara asked.

McCall had a plan. "I thought maybe you'd like a vacation after you get out of this place. I talked to some people I know down here. One of them has a house he's not using. Right on the water, beautiful. We could add a maid and a cook. All we'd have to do is relax. But only if you feel like it." He didn't want her to think that he was telling her what to do; she hated that.

Barbara uncovered this plan's potential straight away. "Do you think I can get out of here earlier if we do it?" she said hopefully. "I mean, maybe we could get a nurse to come in, if I need meds or anything? Maybe we could hire Alva, she's very nice. Or she might know someone who could do it?"

"Hold on, hold on! It sounds to me like it might work. We'll have to ask Ramirez. But you like the idea of a vacation?"

"Florida in January instead of New York in January? It is a WONDERFUL idea." Now she looked him full in the eyes, took his hand, and brushed it with a kiss. "Thank you, Robert." She didn't just mean the vacation. She meant everything.


End file.
